


Lullaby

by ded_i_am_just_ded



Series: Love Songs [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Angst, Car Accidents, Developing Relationship, I just have to break Yuri a little, I swear eventually its OtaYuri, M/M, Otabek's family - Freeform, Self-Discovery, Slow Build, otabek's friends - Freeform, otayuri - Freeform, secret journal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-10-30 01:33:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ded_i_am_just_ded/pseuds/ded_i_am_just_ded
Summary: After an accident brings him to Almaty, Yuri finds Otabek's private journal that will bring him closer to his best friend but may absolutely destroy him in the end.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So...hey...what's up...yeah. Now that I've demolished every completed OtaYuri (and some uncompleted) fic I can get my hands on, I figured what the hell, why not try writing a fanfic again? It's been a few years, so forgive me if my writing is rusty, gotta get back in the swing of things.

  


**PROLOGUE**

  


  
  


Fame is a scream to the darkness.

And the stairwell is the quietest place in the entire building. At least, that he can find without stepping out into the crowds. The shock of his gold-blonde hair is too easy to spot and he left his jacket in the changing room. You can’t wear your mask if you don’t bring it with you, and you can’t bring it with you when you’re panicking.

Which is exactly what Yuri Plisetsky is doing. Standing in a stairwell that smells like stale bread and things decidedly much worse and lit by pale flickering green lights, he is so out of place he’d laugh if it was any other moment. He is far too overdressed for this tiny, cold space, with his royal blue and white and sequins and his hair braided and twisted in ways he’s going to need help getting it undone later if he doesn’t just go insane and cut it all off himself in a fit. He has somehow made it down two steps, his skate guards clunking awkwardly on the metal guards on the edge of each step, before he has to stop and tries to reason with himself.

Yuri is not one for panic. He is one for having control, for knowing exactly where everything is and how everything is going to go. But here he is, clinging to a handrail that is probably leaving a stain on the gloves of his costume, trying desperately not to throw up. He takes comfort in the fact that no one will think to look for him here, that he’s already completed his Program and technically, if he could _just get ahold of himself_ , he could go back and change and just _get out_.

But Yuri is not one for panic, and so he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself when faced with it. He is, for all intents and purposes, alone here. Yakov and Lilia are the closest thing to family, but they are also the farthest. They wouldn’t understand, anyway. This isn’t about work, this isn’t the time for these kinds of personal _things_.

His legs get shaky, so he drops down onto the step and wipes his nose with the back of his wrist before wrapping it around himself. This is stupid, and unavoidable, and his mind is too scattered to put anything together. Everything is too big, and the green light is too bright and he suddenly can’t breathe.

So, of course, he’s found. The door falls heavy and echoes hard. His jacket drops over his shoulders and there’s suddenly a presence at his side. He wipes his eye with the butt of his hand and glances. Yuuri fucking Katsuki, of course. _Of course_. An hour ago, things would have been different. An hour ago, he wouldn’t have had checked his fucking phone, too busy telling Viktor where to stick his heart-shaped smile and his promises of a free dinner. An hour ago, he wouldn’t let Yuuri fucking Katsuki sit so close to him, lean his shoulder close to him.

But Yuuri doesn’t say anything, just lets the silence settle back in, makes the space shrink back to a more normal size. Brings him back down to earth a little and gives him a place to be again. Yuri is suddenly exhausted, and cold, and tugs his jacket tighter, then shifts to pull it on and murmurs a quiet, “Thanks.”

Katsuki just smiles and looks over at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He knows that look. He’s seen it before, in so many faces. When Mama never came home when he was 10. When Dedushka died last fall. He’s sick of that look and wishes he could rip it off Yuuri’s face.

They sit for an eternity and Yuri tries to numb himself. His phone goes off in his jacket pocket and it all just slips through him again. He pushes himself to his feet before he knows what he’s doing. Yuuri moves with him, concern in his eyes, but Yuri can’t bring himself to look anywhere but straight ahead.

“I’m going back to the hotel.” Yuri says, and hope it sounds stronger than he feels.

Yuuri shifts, weighs his words, glances behind them, “You have to go back, first. Everyone is-”

“Fuck everyone. This is more important. This is…” He can’t finish, he pushes his hand into his pocket and wraps it around his phone. He wants that voice in his ear, wants to see that half-smile that will calm his frayed nerves.

Instead, he hears; “There’s nothing you can do from here, and nowhere for you to go tonight. All you’ll do is make yourself worse, and he won’t want that. Come finish the closing ceremony, at least.”

_Go stand on the podium while your best friend lays in a hospital bed a million miles away._ Yuri thinks bitterly. He laughs.

It’s cold, and it echoes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ded-i-am-just-ded) while you're around.  Thanks for stopping by!


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He stares at the handle of the door for a long time before he can force himself to move, to reach out and touch it. It’s even longer before he can make his way inside. It feels like forever, but he knows he’s only got an hour._

#### 

**ONE**

  
  


_There was sunlight, and it blocked out the screen. Yuri laughed, a pearl of noise muffled by movement and wind and the image shifted, blurred, “No, Bek...Bek-a,” he dragged the last vowel out and suddenly they were filling the screen._

_A younger Beka, familiar undercut hair and deep eyes, shot the camera one of his infuriating half-smiles and held it out of Yuri’s reach. The blonde snarled and reached for it again, but the older boy hooked a hand around his waist and dragged him back, “Just one more, you like selfies.”_

_“Last one I let you take was horrible. You couldn’t even see our foreheads.” Yuri crossed his arms and pouted, looking away. They were sitting on a bench in a park, the sun high in the sky leaving little shadow on them other than Otabek’s extended arm._

_“So let me redeem myself. What?” He turned his head and talked into Yuri’s hair, “Something on the phone you don’t want me to see?”_

_Yuri’s eyes widened and he turned, mouth partially open. Otabek looked as nonplussed as ever. An arm shot for the camera again and Otabek clicked his tongue, “Come on, one more. Just for me.”_

_Any argument the smaller boy had left him and he shot a dark look at Otabek, “Fine. Last one. And then dinner. I swear, the shit I put up with…”_

_Otabek looked pleased with the results and settled back a little bit, bringing the camera back down to a more reasonable level, moving his arm from around Yuri’s waist to around his shoulders. Yuri grumbled something under his breath and missed the look on the older boy’s face as he said “Okay, three...two...one.”_

_The camera moved like he was pressing a shutter button. On the screen, at the same time, Otabek turned his head to kiss the top of Yuri’s head. Yuri didn’t move, didn’t breathe. And then unleashed a string of Russian curses and shoved an open palmed hand over Otabek’s face and pushed him away, reaching with the other to steal the camera. Otabek curled over, laughing, and let him take it without a struggle._

_The image flipped and showed Yuri’s leopard-print skechers, “What the hell...did you take a fucking vid--”_

The screen goes dark. Pale hands clutch the edges of the phone like a lifeline. It’s dark around him, and he’s sure his seatmate is probably happy for the sudden darkness. The earliest flight he’d managed to Almaty left at two am and he hadn’t slept at all. Instead, he’s been staring at photos. Rehashing Instagram posts and replaying conversations over and over in his mind. Clinging to everything that’s keeping him sane.

He tried to sleep, but that hadn’t worked, so here he was, ignoring the sounds of business class people trying catch a nap before their busy days doing what-the-fuck-ever when they landed.

He presses the back button, drags up his skype, and stares at the last conversation he’d received. Words he’d memorized minutes after he’d read them, minutes after he’d completed one of the best performances of his 19 years of breathing. ‘ _Yura’,_ At first, he had assumed it was Beka, but then, in English, _‘there’s been an accident. Otabek is in the hospital.’_ The time stamp for the next message is three minutes later, ‘ _They don’t know if he’s going to make it.’_

It comes to him later it’s Otabek’s younger sister, the only other family member that knows English as well as Beka does. Eventually, he forced himself to reply. Forced himself to find what little details she knew. An accident. His goddamn mother fucking motorcycle lost against a drunk driver. He’d thrown his phone, watched it hit the wall of his hotel room, then scrambled to rescue it. But she couldn’t give much more to him.

So here he is, sitting in business class of a plane, switching back to his media player, mumbling curses under his breath occasionally and causing his seat partner to shift away from him uncomfortably. He’s hoping maybe they’ll move and he can have the extra space, but there aren’t any empty seats, so it’s a small hope.

He tugs the hood of his jacket closer, readjusts his earbud, and hits the replay button.

༺༻

Almaty is a stark difference from where he’s been. It’s summer here, and a million degrees and he realizes everything that’s in his suitcase is heavy, warm clothing and will be absolutely useless to him here. It’s a distraction he welcomes. Another distraction occurs, he hasn’t planned anything past this very moment. No place to stay, no transportation. He’d barely even told Beka’s sister he was coming, but she seemed to get the message from his rambling, incoherent messages.

His phone vibrates when he activates its data and connects to the airport wifi and there’s a single message. It unnerves him that he’s getting messages from Beka’s skype account that he knows isn’t him, but he’s immediately grateful for the words. _‘Almaty City Central Clinic Hospital’_ and an address. He punches in a heart emoji and sends it to her, he doesn’t think he can manage any more words right now.

“You can do this, Plisetsky.” He encourages himself, then grabs the handle of his bag and goes to find the taxi stands.

༺༻

It is literally an eternity (about half an hour) between the airport and the hospital, and Yuri spends the entire time in the taxi tapping his foot, staring blankly out the window, not actually absorbing any of what he’s passing. The driver speaks no English and his Russian is a butchered version of the language, but somehow they struggle through the bill and he escapes to stand at the entrance of an intimidating building that plummets his heart into his stomach.

“Yura?” A female voice, rolling the ‘r’ of his name harder than he’s used to, he drops his head from gawking and is greeted by a young woman who smiles sadly at him. She has black hair like Beka and the same glint in her eyes. He’s seen a few pictures of her, but Otabek doesn’t share much about his home life, so it’s odd to be standing here.

“Alina?” She gestures for him to come inside with her, “What’s going on? Is Beka okay?” She doesn’t answer and heads for the elevators. He’s pretty sure he sees her bite her lip as she moves to walk ahead of him, and that feeling in his stomach just gets worse.

They press into the back of one of the elevators with a bunch of other people, and she says something, probably the floor they need, to someone towards the front. Her shoulder presses into his bicep and she waits until they are stopped on the next floor, letting people off, to reply, “No, Yura. It’s bad. The car…” she trails off, taking a breath, “it ran a light, hit him straight on from the side.” The hand holding his travelbag wraps tighter around the handle, knuckles turning white, “He broke a lot of bones, he...he won’t wake up.” He watches the numbers on the wall rise, unseeing but trying to ignore when she turns her head to look up at him, “The doctor says for now it may be a good thing, considering the injuries, but the longer he’s unconscious, the harder it is to assess the damage to his brain.”

The doors opens and the girl unpresses herself from beside him and clears the path for both of them. The hall is too brightly lit and he follows the shadow that is her, trying to focus on the sound of the wheels of his bag, like it will be something important. She goes to the end of the hall, turns, and takes him down another, then pauses outside a door, looking in through the window on the door before she looks back at him, “Mama and Papa will be here in an hour or so. I’ll be out here, if you need anything.”

He manages a weak, “Thank you.” and she touches his arm before she leaves him. He stares at the handle of the door for a long time before he can force himself to move, to reach out and touch it. It’s even longer before he can make his way inside. It feels like forever, but he knows he’s only got an hour.

༺༻

The lights are dimmer, the walls a cold, dark blue color, nothing like the hospitals he’s been in before. There are machines beeping around the occupied bed furthest from the window, and they ring in his ears. He leaves his bag by the door, fingers slipping from the handle, and then he’s moving across the small space.

Beka.

_Beka._

There is no reaction when he touches the tan hand. It feels too cold, so wrong. He bites his lip to stop whatever emotion he wants to push out. An anger he can't swallow, that gets stuck in his throat and comes bubbling back up as sadness.

Beka is covered in bandages and tiny cuts, the left half of his head and cheek padded heavily, his left arm and entire left leg, hip to toe, are in casts. He's too quiet, even for him, too still. Yuri hates it. He wraps a careful hand around Beka’s right index and middle fingers and squeezes gently, before choking out a soft, “Hey, dumbass. What’s going on?”

The patterns on the machines don't change, and pieces of him wonder if Beka is even there. He releases his hold to drag one of two chairs closer to the bed, and sinks down in it with a sigh, reaching out again, picking up the entire hand and pressing it between both of his.

“I told you that thing was going to get you in trouble, but no one ever listens to Yuri.” He manages a weak smile, leaning forward to put the hand back down and folds his arms on the edge of the bed, putting his weight on them, “There are safer ways to get me to visit, you know.” He tilts his head, “Wake up, Beka.”

He shifts his feet, one squeaking too loud, and tugs his jacket closer. It feels too cold in here, and he’s legitimately worried if it’s warm enough for Otabek. But the other man has already been here several days, and Yuri is most definitely anything but a doctor, so he focuses on chewing his lip for several minutes, eyes tracing the planes of his best friend’s face. His phone buzzes in his pocket several times in rapid succession, a call that he doesn’t bother to look at. He can dread the phone bill for that later, but the only important person right now is here, in front of him and so out of his reach.

“Beka,” He tries again, “Please. Laying in this bed hasn’t done you or anyone else any good. Your sister is worried, and I haven’t met them, but I’m guessing your parents are scared, and I’m fucking terrified.” He reaches for the hand again, covering it carefully, “Please, I need you to wake up.”

The machines keep him company until Alina knocks softly and lets herself in. He turns in the chair, but doesn’t move his hand. At least, now, Otabek’s hand, is warmer, even if it’s a false warmth, Yuri hangs onto the lie. Alina moves across the space quietly, her walk is similar to her brother’s, he can see it in the hip movement and he wonders if it’s hereditary or because of where they grew up. And then he realizes she’s holding out a brown leather bag to him. Beka’s leather bag. His fingers slip and he tilts his head to meet her eyes, mouth opening to question.

She shrugs, “Some stuff in here has your name on it. I thought maybe you should take care of it, if you’re going to stay.”

He nods, reaching out, the leather is warm and when she lets go, it’s surprisingly heavy. It strikes him, “Is there a hotel nearby? Can you help me get a room? I sort of didn’t do it before I came, I just…” He trails off and looks back at Beka.

He hears the smile in her voice when she says, “He wouldn’t like that at all. If it’s alright with you, I’ll bring you to his place. You can stay there.”

Yuri hesitates. Otabek’s new apartment. His sanctuary. He’s seen it in pictures and Skype calls, but Otabek had only just moved in recently. Would he be okay with Yuri being there? The blonde worries on his bottom lip again, he shouldn’t, but if he doesn’t move anything, he could really use the free bed. He looks up at her again and nods, “Thank you.”

She smiles carefully at him again, it breaks a little on the edges, “You’re welcome. Our parents will be here soon, come get me when you’re ready to leave.”

He will never be ready. But he waits for her to shut the door behind her before standing up and carefully putting the chair back where he got it from. Returning to his best friend’s side, he shoves his hands in his jean pocket, then pulls them out again. This is all so wrong. They should be practicing, sending each other stupid jokes and insults. He touches Otabek’s hand again, and it’s gone cold.

“Please, Beka.” He says again, “Don’t leave me like this.” He leans over until he’s so close to Otabek’s face if he wasn’t so terrified of hurting him he could touch their foreheads together, and his hair cascades around them both like a veil. Wetness stings the edges of his eyes and he squeezes them tight, “You’re all I really have left.”

He carries the sound of the heart monitor with him when he leaves. It weighs him down heavier than Beka’s leather pouch and his own suitcase combined.

༺༻

Afternoon shadows have the apartment in almost complete darkness, it makes Yuri hesitate just inside the front door. Alina offered to come with and help him, in case anything needed to be done, but he’d shaken his head and taken the keys she’d offered and fed the address to another taxi driver. The claws in his chest tighten as he flips a switch and the front hall illuminates in soft white light. Everything in this place is exactly where Otabek had left it, expecting his return.

He toes off his shoes and left his own bag by the front door, bringing Beka’s bag with him down the hallway. It opens up into a small living room with a single black couch and coffee table. To the left are two doorways, one to a bathroom, he knows, and one to Beka’s bedroom; to the right is a small kitchen with a bar dividing it from the living room with two stools leaning against it and another door. Otabek called it a spare bedroom during his Skype tour, but Yuri had opened his fat mouth and claimed it as his own.

He sets the bag down on the bar beside a stack of mail and trails his fingers along the edge of the surface, slowly taking everything in. It’s so mundane, and it’s so _home_ , but it’s so quiet. There are boxes littering the floors in both rooms, some still sealed, several partially open and he peeks in a few in the kitchen, but it is just dishware, so he leaves them be and goes back to the living space.

There are bookshelves surrounding a corner TV, the left one almost full with the top two shelves still empty, and the right one half full from the bottom up. Beka has probably been painstakingly organizing his collection as he goes, and it would probably take him months to get it just right. Feeling vindictive, Yuri swaps _Hamlet_ and _Sherston’s Progress_ , and is almost proud of himself until he realizes Beka may never actually see what he’s done.

The thought gives him pause, and he stays where he is for several minutes, listening to the sounds of the apartment and wondering what he’s actually doing there. But it’s been nagging him, so he returns to the bar and grabs Beka’s bag, bringing it with him to the couch and spilling the contents onto a worn cushion.

There are two small paperback books, _of course_ , because Beka loves books, because he’s a dork like that, and an MP3 player with earbuds, which Yuri pockets. There is a notebook that Yuri instantly recognizes the tiger on the front as his and he wonders how in the world it got into Beka’s possession, and a small pipe-cleaner figure that’s horribly disfigured that Yuri vaguely remembers from being sleep-deprived and slightly drunk for a birthday party.

There’s also a Netbook, a tiny laptop with a blue cover and a sticker of the Kazakhstan flag on it that Yuri doesn’t recognize. It makes him pause, because Beka’s regular laptop is very clearly sitting on the coffee table, open and turned off. He sets it in his lap and carelessly shovels everything else back into the bag, setting it all aside. When he finally pushes at the power button, it boots loudly, like it’s working too hard for the task. It takes several moments, and then it’s asking for a password.

_Well, fuck._

Otabek isn’t supposed to be that smart with computers. He’s supposed to use them for his music, Skype, and checking Yuri’s Instagram and that’s it, he shouldn’t need a password. So Yuri tries a few different combinations and starts to grow frustrated when nothing works. He’s about to throw the thing across the room, when he wonders. _Y._ It really wouldn’t be that simple. _U._ Would it? _R_. Beka wasn’t _that_ stupid. _A._

Maybe he is, and maybe Yuri should question his friendship, because the screen goes black, then blossoms to life with a basic home screen. He sits and stares and knows he should stop, but this is a piece of his friend he doesn’t recognize. There’s an Untitled folder on the home screen, next to the Recycling Bin, almost like it was guilty to be there.

It calls to him in his best friend’s voice. He knows he shouldn’t, he says it out loud. But it’s only him in this apartment, and his voice sounds foreign, even to himself. He thinks he’ll apologize to Otabek later for what he’s doing as he double clicks on the folder icon.

  
He knows he’s lying to himself, when he sees all the files inside and tells himself everything will be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ded-i-am-just-ded) while you're around.  Chapter two under way tomorrow.  Thanks for stopping by!


	3. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri sees Beka in the corner of that smile and it stings, he sees him in her details if he looks too closely. He's suddenly nauseous, and her face swims. She doesn't seem to notice when he looks away quickly. But she's quick to agree when he changes topic and asks if she's ready to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd, let's do this. Thank you for the support so far <3

####  **

TWO

**

  
  


_August 12th, 2017 (_ It’s the oldest file, and almost 3 years old, so it’s the first one he clicks. _)_

_The motorcycle broke down in Samsi during a delivery, pretty sure it’s dead. әке was not happy about the hour and a half drive to come pick it and me up._

  
  


Yuri huffs a little, his breath puffing hair out of his eye. It’s like a journal entry. A stupid, dumb, moronic, totally _Otabek_ , journal entry. If the other entries are files are like this, they won’t amount to much. Still, it’s comforting to have something connecting him to his best friend. He closes the file and scrolls, amazed by the number of files. Text documents, pictures, sound files, it’s a whole jumble of things, so he picks another document at random and is relatively surprised when it’s longer than the first.

  
  
  


_December 4th, 2019 (_ This past December, right before the Grand Prix. Yuri only remembers because of stupid Victor’s stupid birthday being right around the corner and the ancient idiot wanted to celebrate early while everyone was together.)

_For once, I beat Yuri to the hotel by a day, so I picked him up at the airport._

_Do you ever get to the edge of the ice rink early in the morning or late in the day, when everyone has left, and just pause? Everything goes quiet. Most of the lights are off and all you can hear is your own breath. And then you step out onto the ice and that first sound of your blades on the surface. Those little shivers that go up your spine? It’s like coming home._

_People can’t move like that on regular surfaces (Unless you’re Yura, I guess...or a cat, maybe), you can’t just lose yourself to the ground the way you can to the ice. It won’t carry you like your blades will. And when you’re there alone, you can be as slow or fast as you want with no one to judge your jumps or your choreography. It’s freeing, it’s_ **_fun_ ** _. It’s like a breath of fresh air you didn’t know you needed._

_Yura reminds me of the ice. At least, I had that thought when I sat down to write this anyway. He’s someone I don’t need to be judged by, someone I know will understand me and knows when to shut his mouth, though he won’t always do it. He knows what buttons to push and when it’s too far to go. He’s something I didn’t know I wanted to know until I met him again. I forget who we are apart when we’re doing things together. We’re not always competition; we’re also friends._

_Maybe it’s not Yura that reminds me of the ice. Maybe the ice reminds me of Yura, because Yura is like coming home._

The lid closes a little hard. He’s blushing furiously and is instantly glad there’s no one there to see him. Of anything he was expecting to read, he was not expecting anything like _that_ about himself. This has been a horrible idea and he curses himself and shoves the tiny laptop under a pillow and throws the bag on top of said pillow to try to bury it even farther. He covers his face with his hands and muffles a noise, before he can lift his head and look around the room.

 _Oh, Beka_.

That stupid file is everything he already knows about Beka under his bad-boy exterior. His passion for skating, his desire for more beyond the competition, his desire to be at peace, and how important his friendship is. It makes his hot cheeks even warmer and Yuri decides now is a perfect time to make sure the shower is working.

It isn’t until he’s retrieved his million and one products and lugged them to the bathroom, spread them out in their places amongst Beka’s things, and turns the shower on that exhaustion hits him. He watches his reflection until the mirror begins to fog and turns the words over and over in his head.

Did the ice give him a feeling of home? No, not really. It represents a lot of things to him; hard work, discipline, precision, sweat, tears, adrenaline. A plethora of many other things, but not home. The words kind of confuse him. As he steps into the shower, he realizes the it doesn’t make him think of Beka, either. At least, not in the thoughtful way Otabek had worded it. In the rink, Otabek is a natural enemy, someone to challenge and push him. To associate Otabek with the ice is to remove the friendship label and categorize him under work acquaintance. And it isn’t like he is suddenly in Almaty, Kazakhstan because he is doing work.

He scowls at the showerhead and reaches for his shampoo, now thoroughly annoyed with himself.

༺༻

He forgot to grab his change of clothes, so he pads back across the apartment to his bag, where he’d left it open in the front hall, wearing only a towel. Something in the bag shifts as he approaches, and he freezes.

There is a cat laying in his clothes. It’s not his cat, he knows he left her with Mila, and this one is skinny, orange and short-haired, where his is fat, off-white and fluffy. Why is there a cat? Otabek never said anything about having one, and since they are pretty much the best creatures to ever exist, it’s kind of horrible of him to have never mentioned it. It rolls onto its back, playing with the pull string to one of his hoodies and he frowns, but relaxes. It’s very young, maybe Beka just hadn’t mentioned it yet because it was new. He takes a few wary steps closer, part of him very much hoping it will leave so he can get some clothes on.

It stills, spots him, gold eyes narrowing in on him, then rolls over and darts off, between Yuri’s legs and into the living room. He spins to follow it and it vanishes into Beka’s bedroom. Well, this is a new development.

He lets the cat be, knowing it's the best way to gain its trust, and focuses back on his original mission. He tugs on basketball shorts and a tank top then heads back to the bathroom to finish his hair care rituals. By the time he's done, there is an orange furball following him around. By the time he finds where Beka has hidden the cat's food, in a low cabinet, the cat has turned into a parrot and is on his shoulder, purring loudly in his ear.

 _Cat magnet._ He can hear Otabek’s teasing voice, like he's in the other room.

“Shut up,” He tells the ghost in Russian, then nuzzles the cat with his nose before he grabs it by the thick fur of its neck and sets it back on the floor, followed by a bowl of cat food. He leans against the counter and watches it eat, chewing his bottom lip again. There aren't any answers coming from the cat or the cold tile floor, but he suddenly feels a little better at not being alone.

He retreats to his bedroom, turning lights off behind him. It's small, with a double bed that barely fits lengthwise and a bedside stand wedged between the dark wood headboard and the wall. An alarm clock is flashing an incorrect time in bold green letters. He unplugs that first, plugging his phone charger in the slot instead and the room dims considerably.

The bed is familiar, and when he sinks down on it he realizes it's Otabek’s from his parents house. Mixed in with the scent of laundry detergent, there is a subtle hint of the scents that Yuri associates with his best friend, engrained in the bed from years of use. They welcome and pull him down until he's tugged the comforter around him and has his face buried in the sheet.

 _Beka, you’re an idiot_. He thinks furiously, and he feels the cat jump onto the foot of the bed and walk up his leg. Yuri’s not really sure why he's so mixed up right now, but it's probably the travelling and the cat settling on his hip and his _best fucking friend in a coma_ and _no,_ he is **_not_** crying. He hears his phone buzzing, but he can't bring himself to care enough to check it or shut it off, so he lets it go. It repeats several times until it pushes itself off the table, hits the floor and is muffled by the thick carpet.

When it finally goes quiet, all he can hear is his own rattling breath, trapped inside blankets that smell too comforting. It's too warm and he drowning, so he has to uncover his head and rolls, the cat issuing an annoyed sound and climbing off of him.

He watches the moon track across the sky through the light curtains on the tiny window and wonders why sleep won't claim him. He's tired and he's lonely, so he goes through his short program in his head, humming the tune under his breath. It's a distraction he knows he can do in his sleep, and he's on his third time through it before he finally drifts off.

༺༻

“So, there's a cat.” Alina pauses with her teacup almost to her mouth and looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “In Beka’s apartment. He has a cat,” she frowns at him, his shoulders sag, “So I'm going to guess you don't know about it either.”

She shakes her head, “I can ask ана, she might know something. But he never mentioned anything to me.”

They are in a tiny cafe, eating breakfast down the street from the hospital. Yuri can't taste anything, but he hasn't eaten, so he forces the food in and down. Visiting hours haven't started yet and Alina wants to properly introduce Yuri to Beka’s ана and әке. They've spoken before, briefly on phone calls and greetings on video chats, but he's never actually met them in the several years their friendship had spanned. He's actually a little nervous, so the cat is a good distraction.

“Hmn.” He stares at a spot on the wall, contemplating, then drags his eyes back to her, “I should name it. He probably named it something stupid.” She hides an agreeing smile behind her teacup.

Yuri sees Beka in the corner of that smile and it stings, he sees him in her details if he looks too closely. He's suddenly nauseous, and her face swims. She doesn't seem to notice when he looks away quickly. But she's quick to agree when he changes topic and asks if she's ready to leave.

༺༻

Otabek’s hair is wrong, and it is bothering Yuri. The nurses have it all pushed to one side, laying all wrong and all messy and it's everything Yuri can focus on when he enters the room. He wants to move to fix it, but the medical staff are still here, interfering. So he shoves his hands in his pockets and finds a spot on the wall instead.

Alina busies herself with moving chairs and wringing her hands and sending messages on her phone until the door opens again and Yuri sees where Beka gets his looks from.

His father is tall. It's almost intimidating, but his shoulders are curved in defeat and Yuri sees where Otabek gets his softer side from. Beka has his eyes and brow and jaw, they're all hard set, but soften when they set on Alina, then slide to Otabek. His mother is smaller, about Yuri’s height, but round, and she moves like a woman on a mission, past her husband and straight to her son, chattering something in Kazakh at a nurse who steps out of her way with an almost terrified look.

Yuri decides he loves her right then because the first thing she does is fixes _that fucking hair._ She touches him so carefully, fingers working quickly, and Yuri wonders if she thinks she'll break him. He doesn't really get families, he's really only ever had his grandfather, so he feels so out of place. They're so comfortable with each other, the father setting a hand on Alina’s shoulder, their quiet voices filling the spaces.

Eventually, the staff leaves and Otabek’s mother is the first to spot Yuri. He almost wishes she hadn't, he hates how the look in her eyes change. And then she's moving and in front of him and a warm hand brushes his hair out of his face and touches his cheek and she murmurs, “бір иеді,” which is nothing he's ever heard before and it's all just too much.

He folds at her gentle warmth and she catches it. She smells like flowers and bread and pieces of Beka and wraps herself around him. He can't help but cling to her and thinks this should be the other way around, that he shouldn't be the one caving in. No one speaks while he tries to collect himself, and when he finally pulls back, she wipes his eyes and cups his cheeks.

“Yura,” he loves her voice, and when she speaks again, it's Russian, “he would be glad to know you're here. And maybe slightly annoyed you're not at the rink instead.” He huffs a laugh and wipes at an eye as she says, “бір иеді,” again and takes his hand and pulls him to the bed, “you are family, too. No need to hide in the corners.”

“I didn't want to intrude.” The term ‘family’ tugs at his chest. These people who aren't really strangers, they are who built his best friend into the man he is.

Beka's father issues a low noise and draws Yuri’s gaze, “A friend of Otabek will always be welcome. қатты рет шынайы достар анықтауға, hard times reveal true friends.”

Yuri likes that Alina never does proper introductions. It makes taking Beka's hand easier and the quiet conversion more inclusive. _So,_ he thinks, looking at them all, _this is what it's like to have a family._

༺༻

They won't let him be alone until after ана has fed him a home-cooked meal and they drive him to the apartment in their small, comfortable car. Even then, she offers to have Beka's father stay, but Yuri is ready to be alone again.

He's forgotten about the cat until it's staring at him from the back of the couch, tail moving lazily back and forth. It makes him pause, jacket half off his shoulders, and stare at it. It yawns, shifts, then jumps down, dislodging the bag and sends it into the coffee table and to the floor with a sound too loud for the space.

Yuri scowls, pulling his jacket back up, and kicks a foot at it in the direction it runs, to the safety of Beka’s dark bedroom, then moves to pick up the bag. As he sets it back on the couch, he lets his fingers ghost over the edge of the netbook, pretending he doesn't know it's still under the pillow.

He leaves it, though, and heads to his bed, dipping his fingers into his jacket pockets. He frowns as he withdraws the MP3 player he's been carrying around. He's never seen it before, it's an older model, small, worn on the edges and a dark grey color. He turns it over in his hand a few times holding it above him as he drops backwards onto the mattress, but it doesn't give him anything.

There's only one file on it, when he turns it on, and it's unlabeled. Stupid Beka and his stupid mysteries. He unwraps the earbuds and slips them on, his finger hovering over the play button.

There's silence, then a breath. Yuri’s heart stops. _This_ , Yuri thinks, and stares at the ceiling. The sound is a low, familiar tone, but he has never heard Beka hum a tune before. It's simple, but it wraps around him and pulls him in. He closes his eyes, imagines Beka in front of his laptop, recording this.

He tugs the sheets that smell like Otabek over his head as the file ends. He can't help the half-smile as he sets the player up on repeat autoplay.

_You can keep the ice, Beka. Just let me keep you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAH. This thing has run away from me already. Yuri is so fun to write because he's so psychotic. He is probably the only character I could ever write an angst filled story about and begin a scene “So, there's a cat.”
> 
> (slight ramble ahead); I'm kind of nervous about this chapter because the tone is so varied. But that's the thing with grief, you hold on to it, but life keeps moving and things keep happening and I really hope as you're reading this you're not discouraged by Yuri's ups and downs emotionally. Let's face it, Yuri is as emotionally stable as a bipolar mountain lion to begin with, so...
> 
> and Google translate did all my Kazakh, so I'm sorry if anything is wrong;
> 
> әке = father  
> ана = mother  
> бір иеді = adored one
> 
> This chapter brought to you by Hands Like Houses [Developments](https://youtu.be/n4PRZitxnxI) on repeat. 
> 
> What song was Beka humming? I honestly don't know yet. I haven't found one I am super in love with yet, like, I've got a song that I've been basing it all around, but I'm not dedicated to it at all. If you have any suggestions or thoughts, hit me up here or [on Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ded-i-am-just-ded)


	4. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wakes to a beam of sunlight through a sliver of curtain and the sound of Beka’s voice in his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdkfjadjkflajkdf...thank you, everyone, for the love. Sorry for the short chapters, but if I keep them around 2-3k they'll definitely get pushed out faster. I'm a horrible procrastinator, so I'm amazed at the speed I'm pushing these out. Example; was totally going to sketch out my first scene of this chapter...said screw it and am not going to bother now. XD

#### 

**THREE**

  
  


He wakes to a beam of sunlight through a sliver of curtain and the sound of Beka’s voice in his ear. He hasn't slept that well in months and he lays there for several minutes, just blinking away sleep and listening to the beginning of a song he's so close to already knowing by heart. He lifts the player up and sees the battery is almost dead, so he clicks the pause button and scrolls to turn it off before rolling onto his side. He doesn't remember seeing a charger cord, so he’ll have to look later.

He lazily tugs the buds out of his ears and lets it all drop to the floor before he realizes he's still completely dressed from yesterday and that’s kind of gross. He's kind of sweaty and the cat that appears from nowhere and shoves its nose against his face is mostly an unwelcome, unpleasant surprise. It makes him fumble backwards with a sound he's not proud to issue followed by a curse when his head hits the wall. The cat sits and stares.

“What?”

It yawns and licks a paw, rubs at its own ear, then looks back at him again.

“What do you want? What did your stupid owner name you?” The creature takes his talking as an invitation and saunters over to climb onto his lap. He wants to scowl at it, wants it to go away, but it stares at him with its wild gold eyes and he's a sucker for cats so he pets it instead. It curls into his touch and begins purring instantly. _It's been alone too,_ he realizes, then concludes with a soft smile, _If I'm a cat magnet, Beka's an animal tamer._

He laughs out loud at the thought and picks the cat up under its arms and turning it to face him nose-to-nose. “Well, I guess that means I can name you, right? Everyone needs a name.” The cat blinks slowly and he lowers it back down to his lap, resuming brushing its soft fur, “We could go with the standard Tigr, you kind of look like one, but your personality kind of sucks for it.” He sits in silence for a few moments, then pats its butt and lets it jump off of him, “We'll figure it out today.”

He stands, stretches, and is lowering his arms when his phone goes off. He scowls at it, but figures he can't keep avoiding it and finally picks it up, snapping, “I hope you're paying my phone bill for this month, do you know how insane international charges are?” as a greeting.

“ _Well, if you'd answer your phone the first time, I wouldn't have to keep calling._ ” Mila’s voice sounds both relieved and annoyed and he still wonders how she's able to do that, “ _You were supposed to let me know you made it safe...two days ago._ ”

“Slipped my mind.”

“ _Uh-huh._ ” She pauses, he hears her shift, and he uses the time to head towards the kitchen to see what food might be hiding in the kitchen, “ _So...how is he?_ ”

“Alive.” He picked up the bowl he'd fed the cat with and moved to refill it. The cat rubbed against his leg, “He got himself a cat and didn't even tell me. I don't even know the damn things name.”

“ _Aww, send me a picture later._ ” He hates that she pauses again, “ _How are you?_ ”

“I’m fine, hag. I met his sister and his parents and I'm staying at his place. It’s kind of weird bein-”

“ _You’re at his place? Alone?_ ”

“I'm not alone, the cat is here.” He pulls open the fridge and huffs at how empty it is. At least there's fruit, though, so he grabs an apple.

“ _You know what I mean, kiddo. You should be staying-_ ”

“Where? In a hotel? Just as alone there. With his family? I'm not going to intrude like that.”

She sighs, “ _Have you at least gone to the rink?_ ” He doesn't answer, closing the fridge and glaring at the door. “ _Yakov is going to kill you._ ”

“Whatever.” He's startled when the doorbell goes off, it breaks his concentration, “Someone’s here, I'll talk to you later.” He hangs up before she can reply and heads for the door, taking a bite of his apple.

Otabek's mother is waiting on the other side, he can see her through the peephole. He pauses, looking down at his very unkept, slept-in look, but she rings the bell again and he's opening it before he realizes it. She actually _clicks her tongue_ at him when she sees him, but she smiles and says, “Is that all you're eating?”

He looks from her to the apple, then back, but she's already stepping inside, a plastic bag crinkling at her thigh, “I knew that boy wouldn't have any food. Go get cleaned up, I'll make you some breakfast.”

“Um…” He trailed behind her, still confused, “Are you sure? I don't…”

“I'm not going to let you starve because my son can't be bothered to grocery shop for himself, бір иеді.” That phrase again. He reminds himself he should really look it up. The cat rubs his thigh, then wanders over to meet the older woman. She looks surprised to see it, so he doesn’t bother to ask her anything. He retreats to his luggage to get a change of clothes, then escapes to the bathroom.

As he's turning on his shower, he hears her moving around in the kitchen, her voice carries. She sings like she talks; warm and proud. He wonders if Beka got his musical skills from her.

༺༻

He doesn’t know how she made such a fancy, filling breakfast, but now he really doesn't want to move from his spot at the island counter. She hasn't stopped moving since he came out of the bathroom and Yuri kind of hopes Beka won't be mad that she seems to be unpacking his kitchen for him. Hopefully she’s even allowed to be in here, Yuri doesn’t even know, he had just assumed everything is fine and everyone is on good terms and now it’s a bit late to be questioning but oh crap, he’s starting to get himself worked up again.

She turns and points a spatula at the plate in front of him, “Put that in the sink, then you can pay some rent.”

Rent? He quirks an eyebrow, but he really would like to stay on her good side so he slides off the stool and sets the dishware in the small sink. He washes his hands slowly as she rattles a few things off in Kazakh that he doesn’t understand before she switches back to Russian, “First on the list, are you hiding any more dishes where you’re sleeping? Go check his room and make sure there aren’t any hiding in there.”

An eyebrow shoots up at that. Beka’s room? “Um, ma’am?”

“What?” She glances back over at him, “He’s been in here for weeks and this place is still this messy, it’s not like we can do anything else for him, so why not get things ready for him for when he comes home, no?” If this is messy, Yuri never wants her to see his rooms, “So go collect any dishes and then we’ll gather some laundry.”

Okay, that one might be pushing it. But he’s not ready for that protest yet, so instead he retreats, heads for Beka’s room. It’s still dark inside and he’s been steadily ignoring it ever since he arrived. The cat scampers past him and inside, vanishing around the corner as he puts a hand on the doorframe. It’s larger than his room, and when he flicks the light switch it’s painted a light blue.

He’s seen the bed and the corner of the desk next to it in the background of video calls, but he’s never seen the mirrored dresser or the bookshelf lined with CDs and albums next to the door or the framed painting next to his window, currently closed with blackout curtains and when he pushes them open, Yuri finds slatted blinds as well, which he opens to let sunlight in. The natural light drops across the bed and hits the far wall, where there’s a small space beside the bed and a set of shelves, littered with awards. Yuri smiles to himself and moves around the bed to look at them, fingers moving to touch a cool circle of gold.

He turns, surveying the room to complete his mission, but he doesn’t see any dishes. There’s a lot of music and skating equipment, a few books and there’s clothes scattered everywhere. Honestly, Yuri hadn’t taken Beka to be one for leaving clothing laying around. He smiles to himself and moves to pick some of it up, tossing it on the bed to start a pile. His phone buzzes once and he pulls it out to read the notification as he leans down to pick up a pile of t-shirts. As he is pushing the notification off his screen something under the shirt clicks then tumbles to the floor. He pauses, frowning and casually throws the shirt on the bed.

A photo frame? He picks it up, looking for a free space where it could possibly go. As he is moving to set it down on the edge of the desk he stills. That is very clearly a photo of himself. He recognizes the way his hair is braided back in rows from his face and pinned up as this year’s Europeans. But he doesn’t understand, Beka hadn’t been able to make it, too many conflicts in schedule and too close to 4 Continents.

Yuri takes the photo with him as he sinks onto the edge of the bed. It’s a full-figure photo, he’s in his skating outfit, in street shoes, with his Team Russia jacket on. He’s looking down at his phone in his right hand, his left hand shoved in his pocket. He doesn’t recognize the expression on his face. He looks so relaxed, his eyes so soft and his lip curved up just slightly. He doesn’t remember this at all, he can’t tell if this is before or after his skate.

“Yura!” The female voice startles him and he almost drops the frame again, and instead sets it face-down on the bed with unsteady fingers before rising.

“There’s a lot of laundry, but no dishes.” He tells her as he returns to the kitchen, “I didn’t realize he was so bad about it.”

Otabek’s ана laughs softly, clicks her tongue, and sets a plate on a rack to dry, shaking her head, “He was like that at home too. Too many other things in his mind, you know. Gather what you can for me and I will take it with me and wash it. If you want anything of yours washed, give it to me as well.”

He nods, his phone buzzing in his pocket again. Another fucking phone call, probably Yakov this time. He ignores it, instead moving to pick up a towel and starts hand-drying the dishes she has placed on the drying rack. She doesn’t say anything for a few moments, but he can feel her eyes on him. She breaks the calm, finally, with, “He’s a strong man, he’ll pull through. I know my son and something like this won’t stop him.”

He sets a glass down, putting his hands on the edge of the counter, looking up at her, but she’s back to watching her hands clean a pan. He frowns, leans forward a little, “Part of me knows it too.”

“But?”

“But,” He has to look away, rolling an edge of the drying towel between his fingers, “I’m not good with people. With...with anything, really. I anger easily, I push people away, I try not to become attached.”

“Hm.”

“It’s easier to say goodbye that way. It hurts less.”

She doesn’t answer, just sets the pan on the rack and picks up another bowl from the soap-filled sink.

“Beka’s stubborn as hell, though. He puts up with all my crap and always seems to just _know_ , you know? He’s, like, the best friend a guy could ever ask for. When I got that message from Alina,” He takes a shaken, deep breath, “It was like the world was ending.”

“He means a lot to you.”

“He means everything to me.”

He grabs the pan and resumes drying, “I don’t know what I’d do without him anymore. Before he stubbornly shoved his way into my life it was just my grandfather and me. But dedushka passed and...now it’s just me.”

“Aah, Otabek has told me about your grandfather. He talks about you a lot.” She sets the bowl in the rack and pulls the plug from the sink, “Have faith in him.”

“I don’t want to be left behind again.”

He doesn’t understand the smile she gives him as she dries her hands then pats his shoulder, “I know my son, Yura.”

༺༻

She has him help her move boxes and organize pieces of the living room, it takes several hours. The netbook winds up next to the laptop on the coffee table along with a pile of cords, including the recharge cable he wanted. He takes a moment to plug in the music player and hides it next to the TV, like a secret. After, he helps her shove laundry into two bags and helps her carry them down to the car and watches her drive away.

The photo of himself lingers, a mystery he needs to solve. He closes the apartment door and stands in the hallway for a few moments before his bare feet make echoing footsteps across the quiet space. He pulls the netbook to him as he drops to the couch.

  
  


_Maybe it’s not Yura that reminds me of the ice. Maybe the ice reminds me of Yura, because Yura is like coming home._

  
  


The words are still as startling to read as they were the first time. He’d known they’d still be there, burning on the screen, but it’s still unnerving. He closes the file and changes the folder to a list and sorts by Date Modified. There are three files that fall in the dates of the Europeans. The first is the photo, proof enough that Otabek had taken the photo himself. Now, Yuri is actually kind of pissed. Beka had been there? So close and yet never said anything? He closes the photo and pulls open the first document file.

  
  


_January 25th, 2020_

_мен тек сенімен болғым келеді._

  
  


He scowls and silently curses Beka. Of course there’s entries in Kazakh. He wonders if the internet works and pulls up a search engine to find a translator. While the netbook tries to power its way through that task, he pulls up the other file.

 

 

_January 26th, 2020_

_I’m sorry. I meant to say something. But you’re another world. I shouldn’t have come, this was a mistake._

  
  


None of this makes sense. Are all of the Kazakhstan people so frustratingly cryptic? Or are the Altins just really good at it?

He closes this file and goes back to the other, copying the message and pasting it into the translator.

Beka is not a man of many words. Yura hates him for it. It takes everything in him to not throw the computer across the room.

_I just want to be with you._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of today (5.18.2017) they have not announced 2020’s host city for the Europeans (sites are saying it should be announced in June) and I have taken the dates from [here](http://goldenskate.com/forum/showthread.php?63136-2019-20-ISU-Championships-Applications) I tried to be as vague as possible with it without detracting from it. I followed the standard layout for how the competitions usually go that puts his Free Skate on Saturday, January 25th. I have never put so much research into a story before, holy crap.


	5. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It bothers him more than he thought it would that there are people he doesn’t know that know Otabek. That it occurs to him that maybe he doesn’t know everything about his best friend. It settles in his stomach and suddenly he regrets eating so much food earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat on this chapter _forever_. I have mixed emotions on it, mostly glad that it got done what I wanted, but I'm sorry I just can't seem to write long chapters forgive me. T_T

**FOUR**

The words tumble around in his head until Yuri can almost taste them. He sets the netbook aside, screen open and facing him, and tucks his knees up under his chin, curling his arms around them. He stares straight ahead until he can pull in a breath without being hit with the mess his emotions have become. The cat jumps up beside him and settles on his foot. He frowns and looks back at the screen.  
  
_мен тек сенімен болғым келеді._

Beneath it, how to pronounce it;

_Men tek senimen bolğım keledi._

He attempts it several times, until he’s sure he’s massacring it but he has it memorized. He says it once to the cat, and it lifts its head to look at him. Randomly, he thinks _сенімен_ sounds a lot like the english word _cinnamon_. He deletes the rest of the words in the translator and asks it to translate it.

_With you._

He scratches the cat’s head and it leans into the touch. He likes it.

He exits the window and moves his leg, scaring the cat off. He picks a file at random, and an image blossoms onto the screen. It’s a restaurant, late at night, and there are a lot of young people Yuri doesn’t know. One of them has a cupcake with a candle in front of him and they are all leaning in around him. Yuri thinks Beka’s smile looks a bit forced, but it is in his eyes.

It bothers him more than he thought it would that there are people he doesn’t know that know Otabek. That it occurs to him that maybe he doesn’t know everything about his best friend. It settles in his stomach and suddenly he regrets eating so much food earlier. They all look so comfortable around each other, one guy with short curled hair even has his arm draped on Otabek’s shoulder, leaning on him.

He wants to know their names, how long they’ve known each other. How they know his best friend, what secrets they keep about each other. He doesn’t want to know any of them. He closes the image and shuts the case.

༺༻

When Alina shows up the next day, he thinks she is taking him to the hospital at first, but he doesn’t recognize any of the buildings and when they finally stop he’s confused that they’re outside of a mall. He looks at her, but she just smiles and kills the engine and he’s left with the options of following her or staying in the car while she leaves.

Inside is busy, despite it being a weekday, and he feels a little overwhelmed. Of all the places in this metropolis, he does not want to be in a fucking mall. But Alina wouldn’t have brought him here without some sort of plan. He figures it out when the noise gets louder and he can hear the all-too-familiar sounds of blades on ice. He draws to a stop, looking at his best friend’s sister.

“I figured you could use the practice.” Is her only explanation before she starts walking again, turning a corner.

He huffs (this is _not_ the type of place Yuri Plisetsky practices) but moves to follow, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He is greeted by a blast of cold air and the sight of a massive indoor rink littered with people when he turns the corner. Alina is already halfway to the Admissions and Rentals box and a giant sign welcomes them to MEGA Ice. He slows but doesn’t stop until he’s beside her and telling her his skate size. This is ridiculous.

The skates are well-worn, the blades are far from what he’s used to, but when he locks them around his ankles something inside him _shifts_. His focus just narrows. The ice is calling him and he barely registers when Alina says she’ll deal with his shoes before he is at the entrance and pushing off. He simply moves, left foot, right foot, faster, faster, weaving in and out of people until he doesn’t see them.

It’s just him and the ice and he’s seven years old again, showing dedushka how fast he can go now that he can skate on his own. Faster. He’s nine and he’s playing games with childhood rink mates whose names he can’t remember. Faster. He’s ten and Mama isn’t coming home. Faster. He’s thirteen and he’s won his first gold at the Junior Worlds. He’s fifteen and Viktor is gone. He’s eighteen and his dedushka is dying in a hospice room. Faster.

He is all of that, and more. He is nineteen and his best friend is in a coma and he is here. Skating. He turns his ankles and skids to a stop, spraying ice. It makes some children laugh, and a woman almost crashes into his shoulder. He nods an apology to her before he spins to look for Alina. She’s still sitting on the sidelines, she smiles at him, but she’s too far for him to read her eyes.

He feels tension release from his shoulders and he pushes off again, slower. Skates backwards for a few glides, before he turns again. He is here. Everything he has ever done before this moment has brought him to this point, to the simple act of one skate in front of another in a mall in a foreign country, far from home. Why? Because Otabek is here. It is an easy, challenging answer.

One he’s not sure he’s ready to dissect yet. On the surface, he knows. Otabek is his best friend, his lifeline in the middle of the night. The person he can share anything with and not worry. He’s not Viktor or Katsudon, who are like part-time family. Or Mila or Yakov or any of his rink mates. Beka is a separate figure, someone Yuri can hold apart. Higher.

His brow knits together. He’s not sure he wants to follow that train of thought where it leads, because it goes deeper. It gets personal. It goes into tear-stained faces on computer screens at two in the morning and holding his hand at a funeral. It goes into arms around shoulders and fingers in hair. They are friends, but Yuri has never had friends like Otabek. Yuri has really never had friends.

He tucks a leg and cranes his neck backwards, looking up at the skylights, watching clouds and blue sky as he slowly propels himself across the straightaway. It pushes a calm into him that when he looks back down to avoid a tott, he actually manages a smile at it before he heads for the exit.

Alina watches him carefully, but says nothing while he changes back into his street shoes. He’s tired of the quiet between them, so he says, “Is there anywhere to eat in this joint?”

༺༻

Otabek actually looks a little better. Maybe it’s his wounds healing, but he seems to have more color. Yuri pulls what he’s deemed his chair up to the side of the bed and tucks himself into it, pulling a knee up to his chest and setting his chin on it. He’s kind of drained and actually thankful to Alina for the side trip this morning. He’ll have to remember to voice that to her later.

The machines lull him into a bit of a trance and he’s tracing the outline of Otabek’s middle finger with his eyes half-closed when the door clicks open behind him. It takes him a moment to register someone is talking, but when a hand lands on his shoulder it yanks him back to reality. He looks up and it’s a woman who looks vaguely familiar but he can’t quite place with tan skin and dark brown hair in a short bob curled towards her chin. She repeats herself but he still doesn’t understand her so he shakes his head and asks if she speaks Russian.

She smiles and asks if he’s Yuri. He doesn’t like that she knows who he is and he still has no clue who she is. Someone else enters the room and it makes sense. It’s the guy from the photo that had his arm on Otabek’s shoulder. That’s where he’d seen her, too. He looks between the two of them and lets his foot drop to the floor. Otabek’s friends he doesn’t know.

It sinks into the pit of his stomach and rolls. They’re both tan in the way Beka is, and both almost blindingly beautiful too. The man brings over a vase of flowers and puts them on the bedside table, then holds his hand out and says in perfect Russian, “I am Diaz, this is my sister Medina. We grew up with Otabek.”

Well, there was one question answered. Yuri takes the offered hand tentatively, meeting the man’s dark eyes and nods a greeting. When he pulls his grip away, Diaz sighs and pats his thighs with his hands, “Doesn’t look like any changes since last time we were here.”

Medina says something in Kazakh and her brother replies. Yuri figures Diaz was trying to pull him into the conversation, but he doesn’t really want to be part of it. He wants Beka to wake up and tell them to go away. He wants to sort through everything and organize his thoughts in peace, but the two seem determined to make that impossible.

“Beshka has shown us your routines before. I don’t really get skating, but he says you always win.” Yuri glances at Diaz and nods.

Medina sighs, “He doesn’t just show the routines. He has to explain everything in minute detail. Beyond anything any of us normal people could comprehend.” She smiles and pulls the other chair up beside Yuri. He wants to slap her hand away when she reaches out to touch Otabek’s, but he knows better, and instead moves to sit on his fingers. “It must be great, to be able to travel so much?”

She asks it like a question, he hears the inflection at the end and decides they must want him to say something, so he shrugs, “It’s a lot of the same places. And until last year I was too busy doing schoolwork during down time to do a lot of the fun stuff.”

“Fun stuff? Have you done any of that here?” Diaz cuts in.

What a dumb question. Yuri’s expression must read that, too, because Diaz laughs, but doesn’t rephrase his question. The blonde really doesn’t get these Kazakh people, and he hopes it shows in his reply of, “Alina took me to the mall to skate?”

“That’s it?” Diaz scoffs and then the two are back to talking to each other in a rapid succession of words Yuri doesn’t know. He really hates the look of Medina’s tan hand holding Otabek’s. Her fingers are long and delicate, her nails are manicured and pale blue and he thinks it looks just all wrong. He's about to stand up and excuse himself when she says, “Let's go to dinner together. We'll take you where the locals go. It'll be fun.”

Yuri doesn't want fun. He doesn't want to associate with these people any more than necessary. He wants to tell them no, tell them to go away and leave him be. But he's still watching her fingers around Beka's hand and for some reason, he nods.

༺༻

Medina quickly reminds him of Mila. She talks loudly on her phone a few steps ahead of the two men as Yuri reluctantly follows her down a side street. She talks with her hands, even though whoever she’s talking to can’t see, waving whatever one isn’t holding the phone around, not minding other pedestrians. Diaz is quieter, at first trying to point out things, but quickly realizing Yuri has no interest and falling quiet beside him.

They walk several blocks, turning several times, and Yuri has no idea where they are and is pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to the hospital. The sun is setting, casting orange brilliance along building tops, when they turn into a loud building. Diaz holds the door open and Yuri goes in first as Medina finishes one last phone call outside then follows.

Inside smells like spices, thick and rich and Yuri thinks even though he isn’t hungry, it still smells amazing. Medina waves a hand over her shoulder and moves past the front counters with a quick nod to a wait staff member, who shoots them a smile and moves to help someone else. Through heavy, navy blue curtains and they are in a dining area, lined with booths along the edges and three rows of tables down the center. It’s decorated in golds and blues, but he barely has time to register it because Diaz is pushing him along and they are moving up sets of stairs hiding in the back corner and through a door with what looks like a warning sign that he can’t read.

It happens so fast, but they’re suddenly on a roof. The heat of outside wraps around him along with the breeze unhindered by other buildings, and he has a wide view of the city, stretching out to the mountains and the sunset. There are other people here, talking and laughing and standing up to greet Medina with smiles and waves.

Yuri’s gut twists, his eyes widening and he looks at Diaz, who shrugs and smiles, “If Beshka can’t be here to show you the sites, we’ll be the next best thing. Any friend of Beshka’s is a friend of ours. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Yuri knows he does not do a lot of things. Yuri knows he does not panic, he does not play tourist unless there are cats involved (then all bets are off), and he most certainly does not socialize unless he’s under duress from Yakov and Lilia and the other parties are sponsors. He attempts a weak smile as he follows Diaz across the rooftop, and realizes this week has been a lot of him not being himself. He shakes someone’s hand and a small piece of him wonders if he’s maturing or falling apart.

༺༻

They drag tables together and put him at the end of one, calling him a guest of honor. He fights a blush for a few minutes, before he realizes these people are really only here for a good time. Besides himself there are 15 others, and he can’t remember more than a few of their names. He knows several of their faces, though, from the photo in Beka’s computer. All of these people are pieces of the puzzle that make up Otabek Altin. He looks at each of them one at a time, as if they could unravel mysteries, but they give nothing.

They have all switched from Kazakh to Russian though, as if it is the easiest thing in the world, to bring him into their fold. The sun is going down when food begins appearing from downstairs. Plates and plates that get spread out across the tables. No one waits, and food is taken and passed and it becomes an almost chaotic dance. Yuri watches with fascination, paying almost no attention to what he puts on his own plate.

They laugh, talk, yell insults across and down the table. They tell stories and over exaggerate with waving hands and rising from their seats. At one point, Yuri has a bite in his mouth and catches himself almost choking trying to stop himself from laughing. He forgets, and finds himself having a good time. These people are wild, loud, beautiful. They are prime, and comfortable, and everything he always thought was too much.

And then a thought hits him, Otabek must fit among them. There is a place here for Beka, and he wants desperately to know where it is. He wants to know the Otabek these people know, the stories they have of him, with him. He desperately wants to be a piece of all of it.

Diaz, sitting down the table, stands and taps his glass bottle with a piece of silverware and calls for everyone to shut up. There are a few cat calls and insults hurled, but a hush falls as he holds his mostly empty bottle higher, “A toast, I think. First, to new friends,” He holds his bottle towards Yuri and others pick their drinks up and nod, “May you feel welcome wherever you may go.” He moves his toasting arm to gesture down the table, “And to old friends, may you all make it home without getting caught.” There’s a round of stifled giggles and a few people take a drink, including Diaz. He holds his drink up one more time, “And last but not least, to Beshka.”

Yuri reaches for his drink and holds it up high, joining the other hands in the air. A ghost of a smile hits the corner of his lips just before Diaz says, “May my best friend recover soon so we can drink him under the table in time for his birthday.”

Yuri falters. Around him, people laugh, shout out Otabek’s name and down their drinks. Yuri suddenly doesn’t see any of it. He can’t feel his fingers, so he lowers his glass back to the table. He can’t breathe. It has never occurred to him before this moment but now it hits him hard; just because Beka is his best friend, it doesn’t mean he is Beka’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
> It's all downhill from here.


	6. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He casts his gaze out at the skyline again and nods. He feels something in him loosen, like a fist he hadn’t realized he’s been holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. Yuri ran away with this chapter. This is like...the ascent up the roller coaster. I have a love-hate of this chapter. But it's _done_. It's unbeta'd, per usual, but yeah. Have at it.

** FIVE **

 

Someone drops a fork and it clatters loudly against a plate. It snaps Yuri out of himself and he realizes he's staring at his hand wrapped around his glass so tightly his knuckles are white. He blinks, looks up, and realizes no one is paying him any attention. Dinner has continued on and people are laughing and paying him no mind, except for Medina. Her eye catches his and he freezes.

A warm hand touches his wrist and it breaks him down. He bites down on his lower lip and she leans towards him, “Are you okay?” He barely hears her, but it’s enough. He can’t say anything, but her hand withdraws. He can’t get a breath and she stands, “Come keep me company while I smoke.”

He all but falls out of the chair to follow her, across the rooftop to the far edge, where the lights aren’t quite reaching and the city is dark and stretches to the mountain horizon. She lights a cigarette, the flame illuminating her face for a brief moment before flickering out. He watches her, feeling like prey walking into a trap, but she doesn’t say anything, just leans against the half-wall and breathes out smoke into the night.

It’s seconds or minutes before he finally manages a full breath and stumbles out, “I’m sorry.” But he’s not really sure why he says it. And she acts like she doesn’t hear it. Yuri furrows his brow and turns around, slumping back against the wall and staring at the party, “Thank you for bringing me here. I just…” There’s a breeze and he closes his eyes to feel it through his hair, and he tries again, “There’s a lot of things I’m learning.”

She finally turns her head and looks at him, “About?”

His eyes follow the string of lights over the tables and to the building, “This place, myself, Beka.” He manages a dry laugh, “Take your pick.” He turns and leans on his arms on the half-wall, pushing his weight on them and peering over the edge of the building, “I thought I knew everything.”

She laughs, a light sound, “Welcome to growing up, kid.” She offers him her cigarette, but he waves her off so she takes another drag, “It’s going to be okay, you know. He’s improving every day, he’ll wake up before we know it, and then you two can go back to being all stupid-mushy at each other and we can all gag ourselves about it in the background.”

Yuri frowns, “What? We’re not-”

“How long are you going to stay? You have competitions to prepare for, don’t you? Otabek is always practicing like it’s a full-time job and you’ve only been skating at the mall since you’ve been here, right? That doesn’t sound like you’ve been focusing on your skating at all. Otabek would be angry to know that.”

“I hadn’t thought about it, I just came to-”

She is really good at interrupting, “to see him laying in a bed then stare aimlessly and tear your hair out while you sit and just _wait_.” She stubs her cigarette out on the wall and tosses the butt over the edge, “He’d love to know that you’re so worried about him, but you can’t just sit and cling to his bedside. He’d hate that. Of everything he wants to be to you, something that holds you back is not one of them.”

She’s not looking at him, but he’s looking at her. She’s said it so casually, he can’t even get angry at her for thrusting it right into his face. But it’s the truth. He’s set himself aside for Beka, he’s put his own life on pause to be here, holding his breath, waiting to see if his best friend is going to make it through. He scratches the back of his neck, fingers ruffling into his hairline and he releases a frustrated noise. It’s the truth, but it’s hard to swallow. Because then he has to accept what he’s slowly begun to realize. The sun still rises and sets. Time still moves on. People keep changing, the conversation moves on. Beka is not everything there is out there, and it is okay to keep breathing.

Medina leans a warm shoulder into his, her hair tickling his cheek, “I can bring you to his rink tomorrow, if you’d like. I’m sure you can get some practice in there.”

He casts his gaze out at the skyline again and nods. He feels something in him loosen, like a fist he hadn’t realized he’s been holding.

༺༻

Do all rinks smell the same? It threads excitement and a strange calm into Yuri’s veins as he’s lacing up the borrowed skates and watching the zamboni clear the ice. Medina’s worked some sort of magic and he has the ice to himself for about an hour once the machine is done, then training will resume for the regulars. He figures an hour is enough to work a little burn up, maybe one of the coaches will let him stay past that, though. He puts his earbuds in and thrusts his hand in his jacket pocket, then pauses. He pulls out two mp3 players and pauses. One is his own, slim and bright red, from home. He stares at it for a moment before putting it back.

He plugs the other one in, stands and sheds his jacket, abandoning it with his shoes on the bench. He leaves his guards by the gap in the walls and hits the play button as he pushes off around the edge to warm up. Beka’s low hum wraps around him and he begins stretching as he moves, going through his normal routines. Usually, he’d do one, then the other, but with so little time, it’s easier just to combine. When he feels loose enough, he throws himself into a triple toe loop, loving the tension that hits his legs as he lands. He smiles to himself and swings around to skate backwards, building up speed. He throws himself into another jump.

He flies. He remembers, and he wonders. For once, the ice isn’t about business. This is Otabek’s turf, this is where he spends his days in and out. This place reminds Beka of him. He brings his arms above his head, then spread out at his sides and closes his eyes and lets the cold air go through his hair as he soars across the ice. The song ends and loops. He drops his arms and lowers his head.

Someone is standing at the far edge of the ice rink. Diaz. He salutes him with two fingers to his forehead. The light feeling in Yuri’s chest goes away and he pulls off a quad lutz before he forces himself to complete his circle around the rink and approach the other man. Diaz’s eye sparkle and he has an actual smile on his lips, which is kind of unsettling.

Yuri pulls out an earbud, “This is supposed to be private.”

Diaz’s smile just seems to grow, “Yeah, but you look a little alone and it’s not like they aren’t all watching the world famous Ice Tiger on the closed circuit in the locker rooms anyway.”

Yuri frowns and looks around, but the ceilings are too high and the cameras aren’t obvious so he shrugs, “So why are you here then?”

“Encouragement?” Yuri lifts an eyebrow, “At dinner, you looked like you could use a friend or two. I feel like I...said something wrong?”

Yuri finds himself shrugging again and moving back to swing himself into skating small figure eights, “Culture shock or something.” He shoves a hand through his hair and shakes it out, “Just frustrated with everything and I don’t really want to ‘talk about it’ with anyone.” He makes air quotes with his fingers and Diaz smiles again. The sunlight is coming from the windows at the perfect angle to catch the silver on his necklace and blind Yuri when he tries to look at him again. It’s off-putting, so he scowls and skates back over, tugging out his other earbud and pulling out the music player to hit pause.

“That’s Beshka’s isn’t it?”

Yuri freezes, his heart suddenly in his ears, his finger hovering over the button. He can still hear Beka’s low hum. Diaz is leaning forward before Yuri realizes what is happening and the next thing he knows, Diaz is listening. To Yuri’s secret. To Yuri’s Beka. He wants to rip the white cord from him and take it back, wants to race across the ice and just run. He doesn’t want to share any of this.

Diaz’s eyes widen and he looks up again, his dark eyes meeting Yuri’s, “Do you know what this is?” Yuri’s brow drops and he shakes his head and tugs at the player, but Diaz’s grip doesn’t change, “Let me take you somewhere, Yuri.”

“I’m in the middle of something right now. Your sister worked kind of hard to get the time for me.” His heart is in his throat and he’s feeling a little dizzy.

But Diaz’s smile has changed. There’s a steel wall behind it now, and his eyes are narrowed like he’s found prey in the blonde. “Trust me, you’re going to want to hear this.”

༺༻

_“Don’t laugh.”_

_“I won’t,” Yuri nudged Beka’s shoulder with his own, as he shoved his hands in his pockets to warm them against the cold. The Kazakh bowed his head a little and Yuri could have sworn he saw a blush dusting over his cheeks, “Come on, where are we going? Why won’t you just tell me, you loser?”_

_They turned a corner and Otabek pauses, gesturing. It took Yuri a moment to figure it out, but they were at a cafe. Everything was in French, but it looked completely bohemian and entirely out of his own element but so encompassing of what he knew of his best friend. He took in the posters covering most of the windows and the bright lights inside, a stark contrast to the dark streets they’d been walking since the hotel, and he turned on the ball of one foot, lifting the other up and tilting his head, “Why…”_

_Beka put a hand on the back of his own neck, blush getting darker, “You wanted to come with.”_

_“I was just going to ask why we’re going to some random-ass cafe? There was one right near the hotel.” He moved to tug open the front door and was assaulted by the smell of coffee and baked goods and it just smelled_ amazing _. He stepped back and bowed low, gesturing for the other to enter ahead of him, “After you, your highness.”_

_“No laughing.” The taller boy warned and tugged a piece of Yuri’s hair as he passed. Yuri half-heartedly tried to kick him, glanced around outside, then followed him in. Inside was warm and inviting and he was pulling off his scarf as he mindlessly looked around. Everything snapped into place as his eyes hit a small stage tucked in a corner and someone setting up a microphone._

_Yuri turned to find Otabek, but the other was leaning on a worn-looking counter, placing an order with an older, bored looking guy. He was thankful Beka had spent a few years in Canada and had a grasp of the language or they wouldn’t have been able to do half of the things they’d tried during their free day._

_Luckily, Beka wasn’t close enough to hear him laugh. He couldn’t help it, as he found a vacant table and dropped into a chair. He grinned like the cheshire cat when Otabek dropped his favorite french vanilla latte in front of him before sitting across from him, “Open mic night? You wanted to listen to shitty poetry?”_

_Otabek shot him a look halfway between wanting to be offended and knowing Yuri was being Yuri. The blonde hid his smirk behind his drink as the other said, “No, I wanted to perform some of my own.”_

_Choking on hot coffee was not the most pleasant experience. Having your best friend laugh at you while you did it was also kind of humiliating, but at least he handed him a napkin. Yuri shot him a glare as he wiped his face, which was promptly ignored, so he countered with, “Whatever, none of yours is shitty.” At least that pulled Beka’s blush back._

_And then the lights were dimming and people were quieting down. Overall, it wasn’t half as horrible as Yuri had thought it would be. Probably because he didn’t speak any French beyond ‘thank you’, ‘fuck you’ and a few more curses Lilia would be so disappointed in him for knowing. Everything sounded much more romantic that way, anyway._

_Otabek rose after the fifth person, and Yuri wasn’t afraid to cheer loudly for him, quite pleased as the blush that had been a permanent fixture the entire time they’d been sitting vanished down beneath the collar of his shirt. He picked up a worn acoustic guitar propped on the side of the stage the second and third person had used and sank down onto a stool, taking a moment to adjust the instrument to his liking before he started speaking French into the microphone._

_Yuri leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand and smiled. He didn’t understand a word coming out of his friend’s mouth, but it didn’t matter. He was mesmerized when Beka’s fingers began to move, a sound much more controlled than the previous performers, like he’d performed the song over and over just for this moment._

_Beka looked up, caught his eye, and smiled._

༺༻

Diaz’s car smells like cigarettes and something sweet. It’s slightly nauseating and he closes his eyes for most of the ride. Eventually, though, the car pulls to a stop and the engine dies. A hand touches his shoulder and Yuri jolts away like he’s been hit, shooting a glare at the other.

“Sorry.” But Diaz still doesn't look the least bit apologetic. His eyes still have that strange light to them, though even more determined than before.

Yuri shrugs and undoes the seat belt, “I don’t like being touched.” He pushes himself out of the car without another word. They’re in a parking lot inside a ring of unassuming brown buildings, looking more like an outlet mall than anything else and Yuri swears to god, if he’s actually at another mall and there’s _another_ ice rink, he may punch someone. But Diaz gestures, his keys rattling in his hand, and heads towards the closest building.

It lacks any signs and he has to unlock the door to get inside. The same sweet smell from the car carries from the front door as Yuri approaches. Diaz vanishes into darkness and Yuri hesitates for a moment, but follows when curiosity catches up to him. He closes the door behind himself and he’s in a tiny, ugly reception area, with old blue carpet and uncomfortable looking chairs lining the front windows. There’s a chest-level reception desk that doesn’t have any equipment or signs on it and there’s noise coming from the doorway behind it.

“Yuri, back here. Hurry up.” Diaz’s voice is muffled, like he’s far away, which is insane because this building really is not that big. He shrugs off his jacket and drops it onto one of the chairs before going around the desk, taking one last look around. There’s a single land-line phone on the backside of it, but other than that it’s completely empty.

There’s a short hallway and two offices with their doors propped open, each with a desk and chairs and minimal office supplies, nothing expensive or high techs in sight and he’s beginning to wonder if Diaz actually brought him here to kill him in some secret storage locker or something when the ugly carpet stops at a large, black door that consumes the entire end of the hall. He frowns, looking up and sees Diaz on the other side. And then what’s beyond him.

A recording studio.

༺༻

_Yuri was pretty sure he’d never seen Beka blush so much. And he was also rather unimpressed with the amount of people who wanted to talk to his best friend after he was done with his little stage performance. The Kazakh had spoken to a few, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous habit, before the cafe staff had chased everyone away so the show on stage could go on, and Yuri had seen him shove the small slips of paper in his pockets._

_He couldn’t stop the stupid grin on his face as he leaned forward, “That was amazing. I didn’t know you could play! God, Beka, I’ve only known you for two fucking years and you couldn’t have bothered to tell me that?” Otabek opened his mouth, but Yuri kept going, “Should I slip you my number, too? We should hang out sometime.”_

_Beka groaned and put his forehead down on the table, earning a cackle of laughter from Yuri, who reached out to pat his hand, “It’s okay, just think of it as growing your fanbase. I’m sure they’ve all taken your picture and will hunt you down online when they get home if they haven’t started already.”_

_“You’re not funny, Yura.”_

_“I’m hilarious, your sense of humor just sucks.” He liked the look in Otabek’s eyes when he lifted his head again and sighed. Yuri ran a hand through his own hair and finished off his drink, watching the girl on the stage for a moment, then turning his eyes back, “So, you were really going to come here alone? You really weren’t going to bring me?” When Beka lifted his shoulders to shrug Yuri let out a dramatic sigh, “You’re so horrible. I didn’t realize I was such an awful fucking friend.”_

_“It isn’t that and you know it.” Beka’s dark eyes narrowed almost dangerously, “I’m just,” He looked away, anywhere but Yuri, “I don’t think I’m where I want to be yet.”_

_“Want to be for what?”_

_The older man didn’t reply, downing his drink then standing up, “I’ll get another drink. Same thing?”_

_Yuri frowned but passed him his mug and shook his head, “Something without caffeine or I’ll never sleep.” He watched the broad shoulders weave through people, dodging conversations and attempting (and failing) to avoid more phone numbers. It would be funny if he wasn’t so concerned about the conversation. What was Beka so uncomfortable about? Weren’t they best friends? He certainly wasn’t a weak player and even if he was, Yuri probably wouldn’t notice the difference anyway._

_As he leaned against the counter to speak to the server, Yuri put his chin in his hand again and chewed on a nail. He didn’t need to do anything to impress Yuri, and all Yuri wanted was to spend time with him while he could. Hell, he’d kind of been hoping they’d be in one of their rooms watching a horrible movie eating something completely out of their diet restrictions. But this was nice, too, he supposed. He was out of his own element, and he’d barged his way into Beka’s once again. He really hoped Beka didn’t mind that he kept doing this._

༺༻

Diaz pushes him into a rolling chair without a word and begins moving around, flipping switches. They’re in the mixing booth, almost every inch covered with high tech, expensive looking equipment. He is officially confused and has no idea what they’re doing there. Eventually, Diaz drops into another chair and throws a pair of heavy, noise-cancelling headphones at him. He stares dumbly at them, then up at the other.

“Put them on. Trust me.” He gives one of his weird grins, “Beshka will probably kill me, but you’re going to enjoy this.”

Yuri frowns, turns the headset one way, then another, before he pulls them on, the soft noises of the room dying. Diaz holds up a finger, signaling him to give him a moment. He pushes up a few levers, then touches a button and sits back, crossing his arms over his chest.

For a moment, Yuri doesn’t hear anything. He’s about to say something when an acoustic guitar starts. He frowns, lowers his head. He knows this tune. It’s organized ever so slightly different, but…

His head shoots back up. Diaz smiles at him and stands. Yuri wants to say something, but the other puts a hand on his shoulder in a light touch and walks by. Then the touch is gone. The floor vibrates ever so slightly as the door seals him off from the rest of the world, and Yuri is left alone with Beka’s song.  


༺༻

It replays. He doesn’t move. He’s sure it’s been hours. His phone goes off in his pocket and he ignores it the first few times, but when it becomes incessant, it must be important, so he shrugs the headphones down his neck and tugs the device out. There’s four words in a Skype message waiting for him.

_Beka opened his eyes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _finally_ found **the** song. Mwaha.haha.hahaha.
> 
> Also, go check out the other stuff I'm writing. [CatAvalon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CazinaIna/pseuds/CatAvalon) and I are having an [angst-off](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dedcats_angst_off/works) when we just can't bring ourselves to work on our main stories. Hit us up with prompts, too!
> 
>  EDIT: I GOT ART!! For my birthday, [neveraines drew Beka](https://neveraines.tumblr.com/post/162242236395/happy-birthday-for-the-wonderful) omg so pretty! I can't stop staring at it. I love it.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ded-i-am-just-ded)


	7. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His left shoe is untied. He's traced the dark line it makes over the pale tiles at least a hundred times in the last hour alone. Diaz had brought him to the hospital, but it's family only in the room, and the bitter truth is he isn't that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEVERAINES MADE ME ART FOR MY BIRTHDAY, DID YOU SEE IT? [Beka playing guitar](https://neveraines.tumblr.com/post/162242236395/happy-birthday-for-the-wonderful) I LOVE IT SOOOOOO MUCH OMG
> 
> Also, didn't bother editing this chapter, so...yeah...just tossing it to the sharks. Enjoy!

His left shoe is untied. He's traced the dark line it makes over the pale tiles at least a hundred times in the last hour alone. Diaz had brought him to the hospital, but it's family only in the room, and the bitter truth is he isn't that. So, he's sitting in a hard chair, trading hands tugging at his hair, tracing his stupid shoelace over and over. He should call someone. He’s not really sure who, but just sitting here isn’t doing him any good.

He can’t go in, so he might as well go out. He rises, startling Diaz, who has been dozing off in a corner chair. Yuri ignores him, stepping over his stretched out legs to head down the hall to the fire-escape stairwell area. The hot air hits like a wall when he steps outside, pulling his phone out. He stares at the screen for a few moments, not really sure who he should reach out to. Viktor? He doesn’t really know Otabek. JJ is Otabek’s friend, but Yuri would rather stab his eyes out with a scalpel then talk to him. Mila would understand, but she would start her digging questions and Yuri really isn’t sure he can handle that right now. He scrolls through his contact list twice, from top to bottom before he hits a number.

Dropping down onto a stair, he’s reminded briefly of the message that brought him to Almaty. Of the panic racing through him at that time, the uncertainty laid heavy over him. It’s creeping back in again, in a different form, and he curls around himself. The phone is ringing against his ear, it sounds hollow until it clicks.

“Yuri.”

Her voice is so pointed, it centers him, like it does during practice. He manages a breath and looks up at the ceiling, “Yeah. Can you talk? You shouldn’t have any lessons right now, right? Unless you picked someone else up, I mean. But I haven’t been gone that long, and I don’t think you’re that desper-”

“Are you alright?” His shoulders slump and he leans against the wall. Like the mother he never really had, Lilia knows how to bring him down with so few words. Is he alright? No, not really. But Beka is...better. Getting better. Improving.

He swallows, nods, then realizes she can’t see him, “I’ll be fine. I just,” He needs to take another deep breath, “Otabek’s responding to stimuli. I haven’t seen him yet, though. His sister sent me a message that he woke up, so I raced over here, but they’re saying family only so I’m just--just waiting.”

She’s silent, like she’s wanting him to continue, but he doesn’t have anymore, he’s suddenly drained and exhausted. He lets his eyes trace a tiny crack in the wall, following it down until it reaches the landing below. She must sense something change with him, so she finally says, “He woke up.” Not a question.

No. That isn’t right. Fuck. “He...she said he opened his eyes. I guess, I just assumed that meant he’s awake. Maybe he’s not. What if he’s not even there?” He shoves a hand in his hair and leans his head into it, squeezing his eyes closed, “Lilia, what if he doesn’t come back? What do I do?”

She’s so quiet again and he hates it. She doesn’t have an answer. Or maybe she does, and it’s just one he doesn’t want to hear. But then, like everything else, there is noise and movement, “I will come to Almaty in a few days. We will work on your Free. I’m sure your posture has fallen apart.”

“Wha-? I didn’t say you had to-” He’s sitting up straight, eyes wide, phone tight in his fingers.

“There wasn’t an offer in that statement. Are your skates there with you or do I need to find them in that disaster you call a room?”

༺༻

Alina looks like she may fall asleep in her coffee, but Yuri is fishing for information, so he doesn’t let her. She gives him a tired smile and dying eyes as she accepts the scone he buys her from the counter, then yawns as he sits down across from her. She takes a bite, Yuri taps his foot impatiently, tracing his fingers around his own coffee mug. He’s staring but he doesn’t care.

Eventually she says, “There’s brain damage.” and his heart sinks into his stomach and twists, “The doctor says it should be recoverable. He compared it to a snowglobe, that everything has been shaken up inside and it all needs time to settle.” She wraps both hands around her coffee and looks down, bites her lip, “It’s not my brother in that bed.”

Yuri is horrible with comforting, but he realizes he can reach across the table and put a soft hand on her wrist, “Hey, he just woke up, which is fucking amazing, by the way. Give him some slack. At least you've been able to see him.” She doesn't move, doesn't respond, so he continues, “You'll have your brother back in no time at all.”

“What if I don't?” Her dark eyes shoot up to meet his, “What if the doctor is wrong? What if he can never do the things he loved again? What if he takes a turn for the worse?” There are tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and she leans forward, putting her weight on her forearms, “What if he's this way forever?”

He watches her face, then moves his hand up to brush her cheek carefully, “I’ve learned a lot of things from ice skating, Alina. Your brother knows those lessons, too. One is how to fall down, and another is how to get back up again.” Her eyes widen, suddenly making him uncomfortable. So he pulls his hand back and reclines in his chair, taking a drink from his own cup, looking away from her. He gives her a moment, before he says, “But in order to fall down, we also have to take that jump.” He drags his eyes back to her, “We can’t live in ‘what if’s. Deep down, Beka knows it, too. It’s ingrained in him like it is in me. Your mom asked me to have faith in him, and I do. And I will cling to it as long as I can.”

She still looks uncertain, but there’s a light in her eyes again and she nods, wiping her eyes, “Thanks, Yuri.”

He huffs and drinks more of his coffee, looking out the window. His phone buzzes, and since there’s nothing else happening, he pulls it out to check. Lilia has already set her flight and found a hotel. The lady is nothing if not efficient. She emails him her itinerary and adds a note to the top that she’s already spoken to Beka’s coach and arranged ice time. He wants to groan, but the thought of being back in a structured practice actually makes him feel good. Maybe something normal will help him figure himself out a little bit.

He feels like he’s been made of nothing but questions since he arrived. That people keep adding to his pile and the only person he thinks can really help him sift through it all is in a bed and he can’t visit him yet. It’s maddening to the point of wanting to rip his hair out.

“Did you rename the cat?” The question throws him off-balance and he looks at Otabek’s sister with confusion, “My brother’s cat. You were going to rename it.”

“Oh.” While he has the phone in his hand, he pulls up his photo album and swipes through a few blurry shots to find a good one he took of the animal last night and passes it to her, “Yeah. I finally did.”

She swipes through a few photos, smiling, then hands the phone back, picking up the pastry again.

 _мен тек сенімен болғым келеді._ He has the phrase memorized now, emblazoned into his memory. He stares at the photo under his thumb for a long second, then looks up at Alina, “I named him _senimen_.” He’s probably butchered the pronunciation, and he winces, it’s the first time he’s spoken it to anyone other than the cat.

“Сенімен?” She says, and it sounds so much nicer coming from her lips, and she smiles, a real one that reaches her eyes. She sits back and drains her coffee and doesn’t say anything else.

Yuri is thankful that thoughtful silences run in the Altin family.

༺༻

The doctors will not allow visitors for a few days, Otabek’s father breaks the news when they get back from the cafe. It crushes his chest until he has to leave, fast footsteps down the stairs, because he needs the noise ringing in his ears. It’s getting dark by the time the cab drops him off outside the apartment complex, he stands outside and looks up at where it meets the sky until someone knocks into his shoulder and wakes him up.

There is a note on the kitchen counter, and he finds a pile of his clothes, neatly folded, on his bed, which is now made. Beka’s mom has been here, at some point, with the laundry. He smiles, and tucks his clothes away, then returns to the kitchen to pour food for the cat.

Сенімен rubs against his leg and issues the beginning rumblings of a purr, then weaves in and out of his ankles until he puts the bowl on the ground. He scratches its butt briefly, then retreats, flicking the light off. He drops into the couch, the netbook slipping to hit his thigh and he casts a glare at it, before turning his eyes to the ceiling. There’s been too much going on in the last few days.

Beka came to Europeans, he should be mad, he _is_ sort of mad, but it’s dulled down to a mild anger now. He had his reasons, even if Yuri doesn’t understand them. He’ll get the reasons out of him some day. Beka wrote a song, he should be mad about that too, but he’s not sure if it should be aimed at his best friend or himself. He knew Beka could play, had heard him the few times he could coax a performance from the idiot since he’d revealed the talent. He knew Beka was a DJ and had music practically flowing in his veins just as much as ice skating. So why hadn’t Beka told him about this song?

Yuri leans to the side and fishes the MP3 player out of his pocket, holding it up in the light of the living room lamp. This song must mean something to him. The tone of his voice in his hum, the intensity of it in the guitar. A secret he’d never revealed to his best friend.

Yuri is angry at himself that he’d never asked, that it had never _occurred_ to him to ask if he wrote anything himself. He’s angry that it’s another thing Otabek’s Almaty friends know that he doesn’t. He’s probably past angry and into jealous and maybe a little hurt that it took something like this for him to discover it. There’s a sigh on his lips as he drops his hand back down just as the cat jumps up and wanders across his lap. It allows him to swipe across its back once, a tug of it’s tail, then it’s moving across the netbook and over the other side of the couch and jumping down.

He scowls at it and picks up the tiny computer again. There’s a text file dated his birthday, and he figures is as good of day as any to pick. He didn’t do anything remotely exciting for it this year, there isn’t much monumental about turning 19. He’s kind of surprised by how long the entry is.

  
  


_March 1st, 2020_

_I tried to call Yura just after midnight St Petersburg time, but there wasn’t any answer. I’m guessing he was asleep, but I wanted to be the first one to wish him happy birthday. I guess it’s a little selfish? I don’t know. Everything is all mixed up lately, I kind of feel like I’m a stranger to myself._

_Diaz said some things a while ago that threw me for a loop and I just can’t quite wrap my head around my thoughts anymore. Like...half the time I can’t focus on anything because I’m so busy wondering about…_

_This is stupid, I should just delete all of this. Why am I even writing all of this down? I’m never going to show it to anyone, and I’ll never read any of it again. I hope no one ever finds this either. Stop reading, if you did._ (Yuri smiles here, and scrolls down a little.) _Yeah, I don’t blame you if you keep going. What the hell am I thinking? Is any of this ever going to make sense? Am I ever going to get a straight answer?_

_Diaz also told me to just, “Write that shit down.” So I guess, here I am. Trying to figure this crap out on my own. I stole his guitar a few weeks ago, I suppose I could put that to use before he comes back to reclaim it. It’s sitting in the corner just gathering dust for now._

_But Yura’s birthday. Damn, I wandered off-track. I haven’t talked to him all day, I’m sure he’s been busy. We should have a video call later, so it’s better than nothing. I wish the distance wasn’t so far, that I could just go spend the day with him instead. I’m a little jealous of his rink mates and Nikiforov, they can see him whenever they want. We can text all day, but it’s just...not the same? I don’t know. I sound like a whiny brat._

_Whatever, this is getting stupid. I sit here and wonder if he thinks about it as much as I do. I wonder if he ever loses sleep over it all. Our friendship and whatever. What it would be like if there wasn’t the miles. If we had the time. Sometimes, it’s like we’re ghosts to_

  
  


The file cuts off abruptly. Yuri frowns and tries to scroll again, but there’s nothing else, just the ending in the middle of a sentence. It’s a bit unsettling. He tries to recall, but can’t remember ever talking about Beka’s early morning call, they’d sat on their video call for hours, like usual, in their comfortable conversation, but it didn’t seem like anything different than normal. Well, crap, Yuri realizes he’s going to turn those late night conversations over and over in his head now. Another fucking Otabek Altin mystery.

He closes the file, opens another, it’s short and it isn’t anything important, another note about his motorcycle using jargon he doesn’t understand. Some day, he’d like Beka to take him out for a ride around the city. He’d also like for Beka to never get on a bike again. He closes the computer and plugs it in, setting it on the coffee table.

Yuri knows Otabek is stubborn, but coming back from something like this accident may make another motorcycle ride impossible. He may never get to wrap his arms around that waist, never get to take firm hold of the leather jacket and the body inside of it. He may not ever experience the wind in his hair or down his neck or the rumble of Beka’s laughter against his chest. Maybe the accident became the end of that chapter.

He pulls his knees up to his chin and wraps his arms around his legs, staring at his toes. He should go to bed, should let the thoughts just build up and swirl and drag him down into sleep like they usually do. He wishes his _dedushka_ was still there to answer the phone, he could really use the voice right now. Instead, the cat reappears, issues one long meow at him, then vanishes into Otabek’s bedroom.

Yuri stares after, then rises, turning off the lamp, and follows.

༺༻

The dim light from the window is enough to outline the bed, and it’s really all he needs to see. He leaves his pants by the door and crawls onto the bed, feeling like a thief as he steals away under the blankets. Everything smells like Otabek, he wants it burned into his skin. His best friend, who he’s been here for, waiting for, is _finally_ awake, and he’s still so far away. It’s lonely, even when Сенімен pads up along his back and nuzzles the base of his neck. It’s a chill in his core that shakes him and holds him down.

  
  


_Sometimes, it’s like we’re ghosts_

  
  


_Yeah_ , Yuri thinks, _We could be ghosts_. _Haunted by things we’ll never be able to control, things we’ll never be able to have._ Thoughts Yuri never wants to think about, fingers on his back, the occasional kiss in his hair when they’re fucking around. Being stupid together and just having fun. Thoughts Yuri doesn’t want to think about because they’re impossible and they’re like chains. He can’t fly when he’s being held down. And neither can Otabek.

Yuri will never let him know about the thoughts that creep in occasionally. About how it makes him hot and cold all at once when he looks at photos with the rare smile that’s his alone. At least, he’s always assumed it’s his alone. Сенімен walks over his shoulder and thrusts its head against his face, and Yuri fishes a hand out to pet the cat, eliciting purrs instantly. It’s a distraction he’s thankful for.

“What am I going to do?” He asks the cat and the darkness, “Your owner’s awake, you know. He’ll be home eventually, Сенімен. And I’ll have to go home and…” And then what? Things just go on as they always have? Does life just continue? Does he just keep going to competitions and practicing and bleeding his life away with each breath on the ice? Does he just let Beka go? Once he’s seen Beka awake, how long can he possibly stay? How long until Lilia chases him home and Otabek comes back to his apartment and sees what Yuri and his mother have cleaned up and disorganized for him? How long will it take Otabek to pick up his life where he left off? The one that includes Yuri only part-time through phone calls and texts.

He shrinks into the bedding, wrapping an arm around the cat, who doesn’t seem to mind. What if everything changes when Beka comes home? What if Beka can’t come home?

He’d told Alina you can’t live in ‘what if’s, now if only he could take his own advice.

༺༻

Yuri has never felt more like a caged animal than he does with having Almaty to himself. Lilia arrives tomorrow afternoon and a visit to the hospital will be a lost cause today. Waking up in Otabek’s bed had been a horrible experience, he’d panicked and kicked the cat off the bed, then tore out of the room and found himself actually _crying_ in the bathroom because all he could smell was Otabek. It followed him, though, seeping into his clothes and skin from the bedsheets through the night, and he had had to shower with the water as hot as he could make it.

Now, he is walking. He doesn’t really know where he is, but his phone has full battery and there is free wifi in most places if he sticks to the shopping areas. He keeps his hood up, his earbuds in, and his eyes everywhere. But he’s not really seeing, not really absorbing. He’s so out of place here, in a land of tan skin and dark hair, he sticks out and draws attention without trying. Curious eyes dig at his skin and boil away at his patience until all he wants is a good old-fashioned fist fight.

He doesn’t get it. Somehow, in a city of 1.55 million people, he manages to be found by Medina. She spots him from across the street, and calls his name. He doesn’t hear because of his loud music, and only notices because she’s a whorl of brilliant oranges and reds as she dodges traffic and jaywalks across the street to reach him. She gives him a toothy smile and launches herself at him and he actually has to steel himself and catch her. She says something, but he misses it and has to push her away to pull an earbud out.

He shoots her a glare as he’s doing the action, but she’s already talking and mid sentence by the time he’s paying any attention, “-she wanted any, but I said that was kind of ridiculous and that I’d get some, and here _you_ are! Aren’t you a brave thing, out walking alone. And you haven’t bought anything yet? That’s incredible! It’s so easy to spend money out here, come on, let’s go buy some coffee and I’ll take you to my favorite place, I was heading there next, I bet you’ll love their clothes. From what I’ve seen you wear, you seem to have just the right fashion sense.”

He holds up a hand, “Wait. Stop. I’m not out to shop. I’m just walking around, and I don’t want to be bothered. So if you could just le-”

She scoffs and grabs his arm anyway. _Just like Mila_ , he thinks vehemently as she drags him down the street, despite his attempt to pull away, like he weighs nothing. She’s talking again, rapidly, but he doesn’t care, rolls his eyes, and tucks his earbud back in with his free hand. She’s talking waving her other hand around, shopping bags flying a bit wildly, and Yuri has gone from wanting a fist-fight to worried she might induce one. What is with this woman? And she’s so firmly convinced that he needs her company that she’s latched onto him and now they’re turning a corner and into a tall grey building and he’s in a coffee shop again, being shoved into a booth. She points a finger at him, dumps her bags in the other side, then moves off to the counter, he assumes to order. The woman is like a hurricane, and it throws him so off-course he’s still reeling when she sets a coffee cup down in front of him and tugs his earbuds out in two swift moves. His music blares from the table, and he’s quick to silence it from his pocket.

“So,” She drops down across from him and gives him a smile, “How are things?”

“Things.”

“Yeah, things. Life. Skating. Reading. Friends. Love. Things.” Her smile curls at the edges and she’s not as sneaky as he thinks she thinks she is when she picks up her own mug and hides it, “I hear Beshka is awake.”

He shrugs and looks down, “I guess so. Diaz probably told you he can’t have visitors yet.” He’s not sure he should tell her what Alina had told him, it’s not really his information to share, so he bites his lip and presses his thumbnail into the side of his mug, picking at a spot like there was an invisible defect to keep him occupied.

“But he will soon. He probably knows you’re here, he probably can’t wait. I can see the anticipation rolling off of you in waves.”

“What?” He looks up, frowning.

“Boy, you are wound tighter than a compound bow. Breathe a little, drink your coffee. Big sister Medina paid for it for you and everything.” It’s bitter against his tongue, but he follows her directions and it elicits another smile from her, “Have you thought about what you’re going to tell him about first? Dinner? Meeting his friends? His song?”

His cheeks flush and his eyes narrow, white-hot heat hits his chest as he meets her eyes again, but she’s still so casual and glancing around like there’s nothing to the conversation. She’s winding him up intentionally, he realizes. She’s trying to get him to let it out here and he doesn’t really understand why. He tries to pull his walls up, but can’t seem to find the strength as she leans forward a little, “Personally, I think you should start easy. Don’t bring up the motorcycle or his injuries. Just be the cheery little Russian I know you can be.”

“The what?”

“You can’t hide it, hon. He’s told me about you remember? I know all about it.” He doesn’t ask what ‘it’ is, “And I can see you’re actually a decent little human under all that anger and shyness.” He wants to scoff. He has never been shy, that’s just ridiculous, but he can’t shake the want to pull his hood back up and tuck himself away and hide again.

༺༻

Lilia lands in a few hours and wants him at the airport, so he makes sure he’s at the hospital first thing in the morning, fifteen minutes before visiting hours start. Alina meets him outside, smiles gently at him and helps him check in as a visitor. She takes him to Otabek’s new room, on a different floor, and they speak softly of nothing important for a few moments, before she sets light fingers on the inside of his elbow and smiles in that way he’s come to know so well.

Otabek’s new room is warmer, the walls are mint green and it has more furniture in it, looking more like a room people could live in than one where people were waiting for someone to die. The lights are out, and he uses the light from his cell phone screen to make his way to a chair parked next to the bed. It’s lower than the other one had been, more at a normal height, probably for if the patient wanted to stand up, and inclined. There are tubes and machines running from Beka’s body still, soft noises that keep the room from being perfectly quiet, but the man is sleeping.

Yuri tucks into the chair, sitting on one leg and pulling the other up to his chest as he tucks his phone away and just stares. Beka looks so much better already, even not awake. His scrapes on his face are healing over, his bruises yellowing and fading out. They’ve removed some of the bandaging and Yuri has to tuck his hands into his knee to stop himself from reaching out to touch.

He sets his chin on his knee and smiles.

It could be minutes or hours, but the sun in the curtained windows has shifted a little, and Beka’s head moves, pulling him from his blank thoughts. Eyes flutter, then flash around the room. Brilliant green meets warm brown. There were miles between them before, now there is just a few breaths.

And all Yuri can manage is a soft, “Hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALDFHLADHFAOHFAFGADJBVABHGVAUITFUIABGVJKLABGVJALRF
> 
> Longest chapter yet, and I feel like I accomplished NOTHING in it. Jeeze. Whatever.
> 
> NEVERAINES MADE ME ART FOR MY BIRTHDAY, DID YOU SEE IT? [Beka playing guitar](https://neveraines.tumblr.com/post/162242236395/happy-birthday-for-the-wonderful) I LOVE IT SOOOOOO MUCH OMG
> 
> Starting next chapter right now coz I'm on a roll, hopefully the wait won't be nearly as long this time (sorry >_<)


	8. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunlight travels the slight curl in Otabek’s mostly unkept hair, frames his face as his eyes meet Yuri’s. Yuri had been worried about this moment for days, but in the soft morning light, he feels like he's _finally_ breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SOOOOOOOOO SORRY IT'S SOOOOOOOO LATE. My muse took a long (long) vacation. It's also back to being a bit short, mainly coz I left out 2 more scenes I wanted to put in because...well...I like cliffhangers.
> 
> I also posted the prologue of my other new project [Forever](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12063150) the other day, if you haven't seen it. If you feel so inclined to go check it out too.

  
****  
SEVEN  
  


_Yuri was pretty sure it wasn’t so much Yakov threatening to dismember them both if they got hurt before competition in Milan that made Otabek keep his crappy rental bike at speed limit and off major roadways the first few days of the 2018 Worlds. He was fairly certain Beka had seen the look on Lilia’s face, behind Yuri’s coach, eyes steady and cold with her own warning to both of them, despite being on the phone with someone and handling last minute changes to Yuri’s FS outfit with the costume designer. Yuri was also pretty sure that was the first real dose of Lilia his best friend had ever had, and he was more than happy that she hadn't scared him off right then and there. He was honestly surprised she let him escape when Yuri abandoned her side about an hour into the banquet, after their medals were tucked safely away, to smuggle Beka away for one last ride._

_They’d stumbled out into the night through double doors, all grins, Yuri laughing as he tripped over Otabek’s ankle in the process of shoving him out into the evening. Milan’s March weather was mild and comfortable, with the sun gone and the moon rising on its way towards its full brilliance, lighting the parking lot. Beka paused long enough to shrug his leather jacket over his shoulders before tossing a helmet to Yuri and pulling his own on._

_Yuri clicked his tongue at the ugly accessory, but shut his mouth at the look Otabek shot him, choosing instead to shoot him a grin as he clipped it on and threw himself onto the machine behind his best friend, “Where are we going?”_

_“You’re the one who kidnapped me this time, blondie.” He could hear the laugh in the tease so he stuck a thumb just under Beka’s rib, making him jump and twist away._

_“Whatever. Just drive. Get us out of here.”_

_The engine roared to life and Yuri grinned, tucking himself into Otabek’s back like second nature, “As you command, princess.”_

_Yuri would have stuck him again if it wouldn't run the risk of getting them injured. Instead, he brushed off the barb, and focused on the surroundings passing by. The arena and their hotel was right off the highway, on the outskirts of Milan, and Beka took full advantage, swinging onto the on-ramp then opening up the bike. Yuri laughed, felt his body fall into sync easily with the other's movements as they wove through light traffic, quickly picking up speed, and down the dark road that seemed to stretch endlessly before them._

_It couldn't have been more than five minutes before they hit the edges of the true metropolitan of Milan and they were surrounded by lights again. Beka slowed back to safer speeds and Yuri sat back, relaxing his grip on Beka’s waist as they took an exit. He laughed again as they stopped at a light at the bottom of the ramp, this time Otabek heard it, acknowledged it with a quick hand over his, and then it was gone and they were moving again._

_The streets were much busier and Yuri had too much to look at, his eyes going everywhere trying to take it all in. He wondered if Beka knew where they were going, if he'd ever been here before. They turned down another street and Yuri forgot about it as brand names flashed by, giant store fronts that caught his attention with lighted window displays of fashion calling his name. He didn't realize he was tensing and twisting around to look until he realized Otabek was laughing. Yuri frowned and slumped back down, pouting into his shoulder. The other's back continued to shake with laughter and a hand covered his again and he felt himself flush with embarrassment. He'd never been so thankful for the helmet before._

_He was wallowing long enough he barely noticed when Beka leaned them into a turn again until they pulled to a stop and he killed the engine. The Russian sat back, tugging off his helmet and frowning at the other before looking around, “Where are we?”_

_“It looked like somewhere your Instagram followers would enjoy.” Beka gestured with his helmet in his hand, turning his head._

_Yuri turned to follow the gesture as he handed off his helmet, his eyes widening. The Duomo cathedral was a monster illuminated against the night sky, sitting across a massive plaza. Yuri climbed off the bike as Otabek weaved it into a spot, locking their helmets away with it. He marveled at the site of the six off-white Gothic spires and arched windows of the ancient structure, his mouth falling open as he took it all in._

_He was brought back to his senses when a warm hand landed on the small of his back then slid to his arm as Beka moved around him. Warm fingers curled around his bicep, a major distraction, and tugged him forward. A piece of Yuri was glad Beka was watching their surroundings because 96% of his brain had narrowed focus into the heat on his arm that slid down to his wrist, still pulling him forward._

_They stopped at a row of cement benches and dropped down, the distraction vanishing and leaving Yuri feeling a little cold. He frowned and shot a glance at Beka. The other was leaning back, hands curled over the back of the bench, legs stretched out and crossed. His dark eyes were on the structure, a tiny quirk at the edge of his mouth, and Yuri took advantage of the distraction to study how his best friend looked in that moment. He wanted to freeze time, to let them stay right there beside each other, uncomplicated and beautiful._

_Beka broke the moment, catching his eye and quirking an eyebrow at him. He shifted his weight and leaned towards Yuri, “I know I'm fun to look at, but you stare at me on Skype all the time.”_

_“Fuck off.” Was the first, horribly lame reply Yuri could dig up, pushing Beka’s shoulder. The other’s lip twitched in his version of a grin and he relaxed back again as Yuri dug for his phone in his pocket, pulling it out to snap a few photos._

_Yuri was never one for sitting still, so he didn't remain on the bench long, abandoning Otabek to snap photos of the surrounding area. He grinned to himself after one particular photo and turned to make a comment, only to realize Beka had that far away look in his eyes again. From the distance he was at now, it was something new for Yuri. They hadn't spent a lot of time together in person, so he really only had their small adventures during meets and their texts and calls to build what he knew about Otabek. He liked seeing new sides of him, he liked knowing things others didn't seem to know about him. He wasn't expecting the urge to run his fingers through the other's hair. Wasn't sure what to do with the sudden thought that he wanted that look directed at him._

_He was lifting his phone before he realized what he was doing. Perfect. He smiled down at the phone when he lowered it, studying it for what was probably too long before he brushed at the screen to swipe the image into its memory. Beka had sat forward when he looked up, and was rising to meet him by the time Yuri headed back towards him._

_He waited until he was on the plane home to set the picture as his lock screen. He waited until he was locked away in his bedroom in St. Petersburg, away from Lilia and the hundreds of distractions that his home life threw at him to really study it. To try to understand the feeling uncurling inside him._

_He still wanted that look. He still wanted that smile. He wanted it all. He wanted to be the one who would put it there, to be the only one to see it. It terrified him, when he realized it, but he couldn't bring himself to remove the picture. It would greet him every time he unlocked his phone for months._

_He only changed it five minutes before he met Beka in the next hotel lobby._

༺༻

Sunlight travels the slight curl in Otabek’s mostly unkept hair, frames his face as his eyes meet Yuri’s. Yuri had been worried about this moment for days, but in the soft morning light, he feels like he's _finally_ breathing. He lets his leg drop to the floor and leans forward. There's recognition in Beka’s eyes, but his mouth stays in a flat line and he doesn't reply to Yuri’s greeting. The blonde isn't that surprised, offers him a grin as he drops his elbows onto his knees.

“There are easier ways to get me to visit, you know.” He looks away, “Your family has been nice and your friends are,” he pauses, hunting for a word, “interesting? Loud. Weird.” He drags his eyes back to him, “Not you.”

Something in Otabek’s face changes and he tries to move. It's subtle, but Yuri catches it and is rising instantly, moving to help. He presses a button and the bed elevates, leaning Beka upright a few degrees. The injured man winces at the movement, but gestures for it to go higher. It takes everything he has to not reach out and hug Otabek. He has an overwhelming urge to just touch his best friend, to gain some sort of solid proof that the other is actually here, watching him.

He sinks back, once the other is settled in his pillows again, and pushes his hair behind his ear with a huff. He’s used to silences between them, but this one is awkward, and Yuri feels like he needs to do more to break it down.

He wants to know why Beka hasn’t said anything at all. No greeting, no replies. Yuri isn’t sure if he’s reading his expressions, and it’s unsettling. When it stretches too long, he just starts talking. He can’t help it, his mouth just spills and he tells Beka about the competition he’d won, not mentioning the message he’d gotten that led him here, skipping over his break down in the stairwell and the panic attack that had followed. He jumps instead to the flight over and is about to tell a story about one of the flight attendants when

“Green.”

It’s a single word and it shatters Yuri down and builds him back up in an instant. He’s frozen by it, a finger in the air, mouth open and he feels himself _blush_ when he looks back at Otabek and asks, “What?”

Otabek is frowning, looking down at his hand, his eyebrows are furrowed. Yuri watches him bite his bottom lip, then look back up, “Three kings.”

Yuri must look lost. Otabek’s expression dissolves into frustration and anger and his hands curl into fists.

_There’s brain damage._

_It’s not my brother..._

But it _is_ him. Yuri gets the distinct feeling this is why Otabek has been silent. He’s heard of this kind of thing on TV dramas _dedushka_ had watched. Some sort of disassociation between the brain and mouth. He doesn’t know much, but he knows enough that Beka is trying. He reaches and covers the nearest fist, giving it a gentle squeeze, “We’ll figure this out, Beka.”

The hand relaxes open and Yuri takes it like a lifeline. Like they’re both there to save each other.

Yuri smiles, Beka breathes.

༺༻

Like the calm before the storm, they settle. Yuri talks, he knows he’s good at that and it keeps the silent spaces away. He knows Beka is listening, understanding him. He can answer yes/no questions with a jerk of his head, so they stumble through early morning hours.

When the breakfast cart comes, the doctor comes with it and asks Yuri to leave the room. Otabek’s eyes change, Yuri can almost taste the difference in the air. _He’s afraid_ , he realizes. He doesn’t want to leave him, but he doesn’t have the authority to stay, so he offers, “I’ll be right outside. If you need anything, throw something at the door and I’ll come save you.”

That earns him a glare from the doctor and a small smile from Otabek. Yuri will take his victories where he can.

༺༻

He’s punching in a message to Mila when there’s the click of heels down the otherwise quiet hallway. He brushes his hair out of his eyes and looks up in time to see Otabek’s mother and Alina approaching him. He hits send and tucks his phone away, before straightening, “Good morning.”

The older woman puts a hand on his cheek and gives him a once over. Once she’s seemingly satisfied, she pats his cheek and smiles, “How are you? Did you eat breakfast?”

He lies and nods, then gestures towards the room, “Beka’s awake, the doc is doing a quick exam and cleared the room.”

She clicks her tongue at him and Alina hides a laugh behind her hand when she produces a plastic-wrapped sandwich from her purse and shoves it into Yuri’s hands, “Eat. You’re too skinny. Can’t have you collapsing, even if you’re already in the hospital.” She eyes him until he starts unwrapping it, then makes her way into the hospital room. Yuri watches her go, opening his mouth, but there’s really nothing to say, if she wants to be in there, she’s going to be in there.

Alina lets her laugh spill out, setting a light hand on his upper arm, “You should have seen her in the kitchen this morning. She went through four different foods before she decided the sandwich would travel best. You were going to eat it, even if you’d already eaten.” Her eyes dance and Yuri decides he likes the look as he takes a hesitant bite. She drops her hand back to her side and moves to sit in one of the uncomfortable chairs lining the opposite wall, “How is he? Did he say anything?”

Yuri frowns, “Yeah. But it didn’t make any sense.” The bread is suddenly incredibly fascinating, “He knew it, too. He looked so...frustrated.”

“It’s part of the head trauma. His brain is working, but it’s not associating the right words with his thoughts. The doctors say the words are similar to what he means, but I haven’t been able to figure anything out. They said with therapy, it can be fixed.” Her voice catches, Yuri looks at her and she’s curling and uncurling her fingers in her lap, “He’s got so far to go, Yuri…”

He folds the plastic back over the food and moves to sit beside her, looking at the door. He wishes the doctor or Mrs. Altin would come out and let them in, “I suck at this comforting thing. But I’ll tell you what I told him, we’ll figure it out. He’s not alone, neither are you. You guys have a crazy awesome support system going here.” He shifts his weight and leans forward to sit on the edge of the chair, turning to face her better, “It sucks right now, but remember that’s still Beka in there. He’s still your brother, and he could really use his little sister’s support.”

His phone buzzes in his pocket in quick successions and doesn’t stop. He utters a curse under his breath and pulls it out, “My choreographer is landing in about 2 hours, I have to head to the airport to pick her up soon.” He rises, looking down at her, “Someone around here thought I could use practice and I suppose Beka wouldn’t be too thrilled if I’m off my game because of him. So I’m going to need you to help me out a bit and cheer him up while I’m gone.”

“You have a choreographer? Otabek doesn’t have one of those.” Alina stands, “But then, he does like to control as much of his performance as he can.”

“That’s her title, she’s more like a slave driver.” He shoves the sandwich in his pocket, “She’s also my dietician. I’m totally taking this with so I can eat it in front of her and savor the look she gives me.”

He’s glad when it pulls a small laugh out of her. She’s careful to catch his eye before she says softly, “Thanks, Yuri.”

The door to the room finally opens and the doctor and Otabek’s mother both spill into the hallway, speaking rapidly, the first in a low, calm voice and the second in a higher, slightly disturbed tone. It all bothers Yuri, especially since he can’t understand any of it, but he slips past them and back into the room as quietly as possible.

Otabek is looking towards the window and whips his head around when Yuri enters, but his shoulders relax when he realizes it’s him. Alina follows, steps around him to go to her brother’s side, “Hey, Beka. I have to go pick Lilia up. I’ll be back a little later,” he shrugs his shoulders, “Probably this afternoon, knowing her.”

The older man turns to look at his little sister and casts her a small smile, then looks back to Yuri and bows his head in a quick nod. He chews on his lip and says, “Care dangerous.” He sighs in frustration.

“I’ll be careful.” Yuri tugs his hood up over his head, offering his best friend his troublemaker smirk, “I’ll tell her you say hi.”

It earns an eyeroll and a huff from both siblings, but it soothes Yuri’s nerves a little. He may not know exactly what Beka is trying to say, but he’s glad he still knows how to read what his best friend means.

༺༻

Lilia’s flight is half an hour late. He’s already paced from the security gate to the baggage claim four times before it’s arrival is finally announced and he makes his way back to the exit gates to wait for her. By the time he gets there, there are crowds waiting already and he has to shove his way through a few groups to get to a clear spot.

She doesn’t take long to appear, probably from First Class. Ever the strict, structured matriarch, she’s in a dress-suit and heels that click loudly with each step, and he can hear her approach over the noise around him. Her hair is yanked up in her all-business bun and her face is as unreadable as always. As she approaches him he’s quick to adjust his form, making sure his spine is straight, his chin up, his footing perfect.

She stops in front of him, adjusting the strap of her large purse on her shoulder, and gives him a once-over. When her eyes meet his again, she frowns, “Yuri.”

His name, in her voice, in his ears, is enough to drag him down. Exhaustion sweeps over him like he hasn’t slept since he arrives. She reaches out and runs a manicured nail over his cheek and he feels a tremor run through himself, and suddenly he’s aware of everything again. He shakes himself and steps back, turning, “Welcome to Kazakhstan, did you ship a bag?”

She frowns at him, but nods, “Let us go get it, I have reserved studio time.” _Of course_. She glances around and wrinkles her nose, then follows the flow of people before Yuri can lead her.

༺༻

Studios are always quiet, with a softness that hovers like a comfortable blanket. Lilia has made herself at home already by the time Yuri finishes changing and finds his way to the borrowed room. He's still pretty sure Lilia knows magic, not sure how she found an open studio willing to rent hours to her. But then, she isn't a former _prima ballerina_ for nothing.

He drops onto the side floor to put on his shoes and notes the dance floor isn’t the high-end Marley, like back home, as he laces up. Lilia is setting up music by the window, and says nothing, so when he's done he begins his warm up stretches before piano keys fill the room.

He moves to the barre without being told, and goes through the usual routine there, frowning when he can already feel the difference in the flooring. He hopes she doesn't make him practice any leaps on this crap. A hand touches his arm, adjusts him, lets it go, he exhales. It's all familiar, a steady routine he's done a thousand times, for over four years now. She's letting him get into a familiar space, giving him the place he didn't know he needed. She knows him so well, knows how to read him, how to take him apart and put him together in ways no one else can.

She knows his mind is finally clear when he finishes, so she says, “Your last Free Skate was beautiful, let's not lose that form or focus.”

 _Otabek is in the hospital. They don't know if he's going to make it._ Words on a screen, burned in his mind, flaring back to life. His arm shakes above his head and he has to lower it, dropping himself out of his position. The shaking doesn't stop, it spreads, across his shoulders, down his spine. He knows, _knows_ Otabek is awake and still, those words are terrifying.

“Yuri.” She doesn't touch him, but he flinches like he's been hit, then drags his eyes to her, “You called me for a reason. I am here to help, you are here,” she gestures at the open dance floor behind her, “to work. Focus.”

She doesn't offer words of comfort, and somewhere inside, Yuri is glad. She watches him with her stone-face and challenging eyes until he can meet hers without looking away again. She sees something she must approve of, nods, and heads towards the stereo, “Move to your opening pose.”

༺༻

Yuri is dying. He’s 100% guaranteed to pass away if the she-devil makes him do one more Grand Jeté in place of his combos. He already wants to saw off his feet and maybe sleep for a week. As it is, he's amazed she's only watching him as he gracelessly sprawls on the floor, trying to catch his breath. They've been here long enough that the sun is coming in through the windows now, Lilia’s closed the shades but the temperature is still ridiculous and not helping save him from his slow death.

The song switches to [The Aviators](https://youtu.be/mMSBBRhdFc4), a slow tinkle of keys that he uses to pace his breaths before he dares to sit up and chance a look, “Did Yakov say anything?”

“He says a lot of things.” He sees the smile try to slip onto her face, “He worries, but he knows you as well as I do. Despite what you think, we do have _some_ faith in you. You've proven yourself too many times for us not to.”

There's a build in the song that he always loves, so he pauses to listen, leans back on his hands and closes his eyes, pictures the choreography he'd use through it until the song ends and moves on. When it ends, she's still watching him, “Can I stay here a while? In Almaty.”

“You have obligations and contracts, you know. Paychecks aren't free.” She crosses her arms and walks across the floor towards him, “You can't stay here forever.”

“I didn't say forever. I just…” He twists his hands in front of himself and crosses his legs, “Otabek…”

“He’s awake, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but-”

“He’s breathing without you, correct?”

“Of course, but, Lilia-”

“When they give him a release date, we'll book the return flight. His family will take care of him.”

 _He doesn't really need you right here, in his way_. It’s all Yuri can hear, even if she doesn’t mean it that way. His chest feels tight, the room feels too small. He sucks on his upper lip and looks at the light marks on the floor. A thousand and one battle scars from unknown dancers, and now his own are laid out among them. Exposed and anonymous.

“Get up.” She’s moved on already, “One more time, then you can escort me to my hotel and get back to your friend.”

He groans and falls back, but moves to comply.

༺༻

Yuri plays the dutiful student and stays with Lilia, taking her suitcase all the way to her hotel room. He hovers at the door while she sets it on the bed and opens it, then returns with his skate bag and hands it to him, “Tomorrow morning, I'll see that mess again, this time with the quads.”

He scowls at her back as she turns away, but quickly drops the expression when she pauses and turns around again, “Yuri,” she hesitates and that throws him off, “I’m glad you called me.” He worries she’s going to turn this into something sentimental, something he's not used to from her. But she turns away and says, “Nine AM.”

It’s a dismissal, Yuri takes it and flees, tries to make it seem as casual as possible. But he holds the strap of his bag so tight that by the time he's in a taxi again, stumbling over the name of the hospital, his fingers are white. He's not sure why he's shaking, but he doesn't want to show this weakness to Beka.

He asks the driver to take him to the apartment instead.

༺༻

сенімен meets him at the door, wraps around his legs several times until he drops the bag and scratches the cat's head. The hall smells like a mix of spices and cleaning supplies. Otabek’s mom has been here, then. He tugs his shoes off then follows the orange cat through the dim apartment to the kitchen. There's a short note in messy Russian;

_I made you some dinner, in the fridge. Eat something before you go back to the hospital. Visiting hours are until 8._

Followed by reheating instructions and a doodle of a cat that makes him smile. He sets the note back down and goes to fish the food out. It looks like dumplings and smells amazing, even cold. He follows her instructions and pours some food for сенімен, scratching the cat's butt while it eats until the timer goes off, then goes to feed himself.

The netbook is on the coffee table, he ignores it in favor of savoring the first few bites. The dumplings are filled with spicy meat and vegetables and he devours two before he can't resist reaching out and powering the device back on. The file with Otabek’s motorcycle jargon is still on the screen he closes it and takes another bite as he scans file dates.

Most of the photos have generic, computer-generated names. There's a list of them, though, that start with _Milan2018_ that grab his eye. He clicks the first one and is amused to find a candid shot of most of the competitors, standing around in the back hall of the Forum. Yuri’s partially hidden, but there, arms crossed and scowling. He grins to himself and moves through them, enjoying the memories each picture pulls.

He pauses on a shot of the Duomo. It's far away, nothing artistic about the angle, but it's also a silhouetted shot of Yuri’s back, his head tilted up, hair a messy golden halo outlining himself. It's incredibly candid and intimate and Yuri figures it must be from when they first arrived at the cathedral and he’d been spacing out. He studies it for probably way too long, finger hovering over the button to click to the next photo.

He actually doesn't mean to click yet, but сенімен jumps onto the couch, hits his elbow and startles him. His finger slips and hits it just as he almost spills the food. He’s glad no one is there to see him rescue the furniture from it, because his flailing movement isn't graceful.

“Goddamn it, сенімен, Beka would kill me if I…” he’s talking to the cat, turning back to the screen, but his voice dies in his throat at the image on the screen.

Yuri’s standing in the Duomo plaza, feet and back poised so perfectly Lilia wouldn't complain. He's looking down at his phone. He knows that smile on his face. He remembers exactly what he was looking at.

He can't breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm over here if you want to yell at me in private.](http://ded-i-am-just-ded.tumblr.com/)


	9. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the scenes that were originally planned to go at the end of the last chapter. I'm sorry this is so short, I agonized over making it longer, but these scenes deserve to be stand-alone.
> 
> Thank you kiazareni for the final push to make me publish this now instead of waiting.

** EIGHT **

Familiar things are unfolding until his chest, like old friends he has been trying to avoid. Starbursts behind his closed eyes and fingers in his own hair, his blood is pulsing so loudly in his ears he’s actually a little worried he might pass out. When he dares opening an eye again, the screen hasn’t changed. It’s still him, he’s still looking down at his phone.

He tugs out his current phone and knows exactly where his version of that night is saved, tucked safely inside a folder labeled _BEKA_ that has moved from phone to phone since he was fifteen. It takes more scrolling that he would ever admit to find his photo. He pulls it up and props it on the netbook, then sits back and bites his thumb nail.

Yuri knows he buries feelings, he knows _why_ he does it. He pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, staring at the pictures. As much as he’s always fought it, he _knows_ what his picture means to him. What that moment was to him.

It was the moment everything changed for him. The moment he realized everything he wanted from Otabek, everything he wanted to give him. To Yuri, his photo was locking in the moment his side of their friendship transformed. The moment things began to mean more, and he had to watch himself and hold himself back. It was the most important moment in Yuri’s life.

He doesn’t know what the moment meant to Beka. What this photo means now. It throws everything in his universe into chaos. It means there’s more than one secret photo of himself. It means Beka watches him, maybe just as carefully. Maybe more.

That thought hits hard. He doesn’t know how to process it, doesn’t know if he can shove it back down and forget about it. How does he face his best friend again with all of this? Does he ask? Does he just try to move on? He won’t forget, but Otabek has obviously never done anything to tell Yuri that he actually wants to push their friendship in any sort of direction, so maybe he can just...tuck it away? Wrap it all up neatly in himself and accept that one day, Beka will meet a girl and Yuri will smile and congratulate him. One day, Beka will have a home and kids in a yard and come home from his work at the garage or office or whateverthefuck he decides to do and...and it won’t be Yuri there to greet him.

He tucks his hand against his chest and grips his shirt, bowing his head. He _wants_. Pushing himself out of the picture hurts so bad he can feel it in his chest. He doesn't know if he would ever survive if that were to happen. _No_ , he realizes. He will never be able to just push it all under the rug and forget about it, not as long as they remain part of each other's lives.

And this is the first time it really occurs to him, _maybe_ Otabek wants that too. Maybe it's not something that needs to be forgotten, maybe it's something they've both been hiding and avoiding. Maybe Otabek meant something so much deeper than had occurred to him originally.

_I just want to be with you._

There's a sob building in his chest, and he wonders just how long it's been waiting to surface.

༺༻

_He had been surprised when Otabek had answered his phone on the second ring, it was nearly three in the morning in Almaty and Yuri knew for a fact Otabek had practice in just a few hours. Still, he was grateful to hear the warm voice on the other end._

_It took him too long to find his own voice, and it broke, even when all he managed to choke out was, “Beka.”_

_Otabek waited, gave him the time to pull in a few strangled breaths, before he simply said, “I'll catch the next flight I can.”_

_Yuri squeezed his eyes closed and nodded, tugging his comforter closer around him, even though the other couldn't see him. He managed a strangled, “Thank you.”_

_Otabek stayed on the line and just let him cry._

༺༻

Eventually, his phone screen goes black from being untouched and a few moments later the computer screen goes into a wallpaper then falls into sleep mode. He still hasn't moved, he stares until there's a loud _BANG_ outside, followed by loud music. It makes him aware that his cheeks are wet, and he scrubs at them, coughs once, then rises, grabbing his phone and heading to the window to see what the noise is.

There's people in the street, a party of some sort as the sun is setting, it seems they've shut down the small road that runs behind Beka’s building for the entire block and have taken over the entire thing. He watches the people moving, carrying on with their lives, and wonders. If things were different, if he wasn't here, would Otabek be down there? Maybe with his friends? Maybe with someone else?

He turns away from the window. No. There is something he knows needs to be said between them. It will weigh heavy on him until he can get it off his chest and hear Otabek’s response.

As long as it hasn't changed.

His eyes widen and he wraps his arms around himself. What if things are different now? What if Beka doesn't _want_ anything with him anymore? What if something has changed since he wrote that entry? Since he took those pictures? Maybe Yuri is building mountains out of molehills and Otabek never wanted any of what Yuri thinks he wants?

Time changes people, Beka has seen every side of him. It's been a long time since Milan, they've come a long way since then, had their share of fights and laughter and heartache. Maybe he's not quite what Otabek built him up to be.

Or maybe the accident itself will lchange his best friend. Maybe Beka will realize he's wasted so much time with Yuri and move on. He'll realize what a horrible, still so young person Yuri is. Or he'll come to hate everything from before the accident, including the blonde. Maybe he'll ask Yuri to leave and never contact him again.

Yuri isn't sure if he'd survive something like that. He's not sure he'd want to.

༺༻

_He wished it was raining. Or snowing. Or the world was ending. Anything other than the clear blue skies it actually was. Something that made the rest of Moscow mourn like he was mourning. But dedushka wouldn't have wanted it any other way, he supposed._

_Standing in the church, with the priest rattling on at the pulpit, Yuri could only tuck his hands into his lap and fight off tears he was sick of crying. He didn't care about the anecdotes the priest shared, or the stories others got up to speak. All he wanted was his grandfather back. Even from his seat, he could see him in the open casket, looking paler than Yuri had ever seen him._

_He worked his lip between his teeth, feeling the skin threatening to crack, when a hand landed on his own and startled him. He looked down and couldn't help the weak smile as he moved to interlace his fingers with the tan hand that had invaded his space. He glanced beside him, but Otabek was watching the front again._

Breathe.

_He squeezed the hand and felt infinitely better when the other squeezed back. He still couldn't bring himself to listen, but having Otabek’s hand helped. It was warm and engulfed his delicate one. It proved he was alive. They were alive._

_He leaned his forehead into Otabek’s shoulder and closed his eyes. They were alive together. Otabek had dropped everything and come to be with him for this. His last real pillar of strength. The last thing he didn't ever want to lose._

_He was crying again, but this time it wasn't for his grandfather._


	10. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You can’t get everything you want right away. You of all people should know that.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys, I know I'd said the next chapter would be out quick and then I vanished again :x Health issues kind of threw me off and I just couldn't get into the mood. 
> 
> But here, have something I've been planning for _forever_ and titaniumplatedspine and lecheesie can tell you I had an anxiety freakout as soon as I finally got it out and saw it on docs.
> 
>  
> 
> _PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL IT IN THE COMMENTS IF YOU GO HUNTING AFTER YOU READ._  
> 

** NINE **

_“You know, Yura,” Otabek’s voice was warm with laughter and Yuri was half inclined to not believe whatever was going to come out of his mouth next, but he turned his head to look at him anyway, “You can’t get everything you want right away. You of all people should know that.”_

_Yuri stuck his tongue out at him and looked back at the grey[Gucci backpack with the embroidered tiger head](https://www.gucci.com/us/en/pr/men/mens-bags/mens-backpacks/backpack-with-embroidery-p-429037K1NAX8676) that called out to him from the window display. He knew Otabek was right, and he definitely knew he couldn’t afford whatever price tag something out of a Gucci store would cost, but it still didn’t hurt to dream. He probably should have paid more attention when Viktor went off on one of his investment rants, but sue him, he was seventeen at the time, he was allowed to have a short attention span. He wasn’t really sure what Viktor’s excuse was._

_Either way, he turned away from the window and shoved his hands in his pockets, “I know, I was just looking. Way to be a dream killer, Beka.”_

_Otabek laughed and dug his elbow into Yuri’s arm, teasingly, “Maybe I’ll get it for you some day.”_

_“Don’t you dare.” Yuri shot him a look, “That’s too expensive on our horrible income. I swear to god, if I ever see it with your name attached to it, I’m disowning you.” Yuri loves the way Otabek laughs, it almost makes it hard to breathe. He knows Beka only does it around him, never around the other skaters, and it leaves him with a warm feeling that he really hopes doesn’t reach his cheeks._

_“I didn’t say any time soon. I said some day. I’ll find it used and worn out in a few years and get it for really cheap.”_

_Yuri’s feet stopped and his mouth dropped open as Otabek kept watching, “I hope you’re fucking joking. Why would I want a_ used _one? That’s...eww, Beka!” Otabek tipped his head back and laughed again, but kept walking, not turning as Yuri called after him, “Otabek!”_

_They paused at a street corner, Yuri being sure to shove his own elbow into Otabek’s side, the older man barely avoided knocking into a woman on his other side. Justice, Yuri figured. Otabek pointed across the street, “Let’s stop in there, I need a notebook.”_

_It’s a small stationary store, Yuri wasn’t really big on that kind of stuff, but if Otabek wanted something from it, then whatever, he’d deal. It smelled like incense inside and Yuri wondered if all small-business stores sign paperwork before opening up that require them to smell like that. He lost Otabek while he was looking at a leopard-printed pen, so he put it back and headed to the front of the store to wait him out. Yuri knew Otabek took forever in places he loved, he dreaded places anything remotely related to motorcycles, they could be stuck for_ hours. _Okay, maybe a little exaggerated, but it felt like hours to Yuri._

_Yuri tugged out his phone, found some free WiFi to connect to, and pulled up Instagram. The other skaters were out exploring the city and most of the other posts were of places he’d already seen or looked very similar. He double tapped a lot of them anyway, commented on a few, then got into a discussion/argument with Phichit on Instant Message._

_He was in the middle of typing up quite possibly the best paragraph to ever exist on who would win in a snow leopard vs siberian tiger fight when his view of his phone was suddenly blocked by the[coolest looking tiger notebook](https://society6.com/product/ferocious-tiger-watercolor_notebook#s6-2290901p59a202v704) he’d ever seen. _

_His head shot up to look at Otabek who only gave him one of his half smirks and shrugged, “You look like you’re about to rip someone’s head off. Maybe don’t do that in public? But here, for you, since I can’t get you the bag.”_

_Yuri grabbed for it like he’d die without it, then held onto it like it was worth more than anything he’d ever held before, looking over the image on the front again, “Beka…” He looked up at him again, swallowing, “Tha-Thank you.”_

_Otabek shrugged again and moved a plastic bag from one hand to the other, “It’s nothing, let’s get going. I need some coffee.”_

_“That mess you drink can hardly be called coffee.” But Yuri led the way out of the shop, pausing to look around to look for a cafe outside. Otabek seemed to know where he was going, though, and brushed into his side, nudging him to the left. How did that guy always know where the coffee was? Yuri rolled his eyes and pulled his new notebook to his chest, then stomped down the sidewalk, Otabek’s warm presence following him like a shadow at his shoulder._

༺༻

Yuri wakes up on the floor and realizes he broke his promise. He rolls on his back, his shoulders protesting, and stares at the ceiling as сенімен steps onto his chest then down onto his stomach and lays down as the night before floods back over him in a tidal wave. The sun must still be low, the room is mostly dark with curling shades of pink and orange with the coming dawn seeping in from the window. He feels like a new weight has settled in him, an acceptance that fills him with both anticipation and dread.

He wants to see Otabek, but he also wants to flee. He wants Lilia to drill him in his dance until he can't think or to beat some sense into his head like she's wont to do. His phone buzzes his alarm somewhere nearby, so he rolls, brushing the cat off of himself and dragging himself to his knees.

His phone is next to the netbook, falling silent, it makes him hesitate. The image burned into his head. His secret Otabek. Otabek's secret Yuri. Around and around, he wonders how long this has gone on. If Otabek's photos really mean the same to him as Yuri's photo does to Yuri. He breathes deep.

The phone goes off again, a different type of vibration, signaling a Skype message. He picks the device up like it might betray him, but it's only Mila, who probably hasn't even slept yet, ‘ _hw r u?_ ’

He drags open the window to type a reply, then hesitates. How is he? He's just realized…realized what? Otabek cares about him? Well, duh, everyone already knew that. Otabek cares about him...possibly like Yuri _cares_ about Otabek? Or at least he did. At one point. And Yuri would really like to know if it still stands or if…

He shakes his head to push the thought away, keys in, ‘ _Still breathing, hag._ ’ then sets the phone back down like it's burned him. He needs a shower.

And then he needs to see Otabek.

༺༻

Diaz is there already, Yuri can hear him from down the hall. He's suddenly thankful he stopped to get himself coffee or there would probably be homicide in his near future. He doesn't have a whole lot of time before he has to meet Lilia, but he needs to be here first. Yuri doesn't knock, figures Otabek wouldn't hear it over Diaz’s talking anyway.

He's rambling in the strange mix of Russian, Kazakh, and English Yuri's learned is normal around Almaty and Otabek is watching him pace around the room with an amused expression. When he hears the door, his head whips around and he winces before he tries to hide it quickly. Yuri frowns, but says nothing, letting Diaz continue. The ranting Kazakh takes just long enough for Yuri to sit down to notice his presence, then grins, looking between the two of them, “I should give you guys some space. Think about it, Beshka, I know what I'm talking about.” And then he's gone.

Yuri is left staring at the door as it closes and he blinks, frowns, looks back to his friend, “What was-" He cut himself off, lifting his free hand, “Never mind, I don't want to know.” Otabek smiles and his brain short circuits, so he averts his eyes and drinks the last of his coffee to give himself a moment. Otabek is still watching him when he lifts his eyes again, looking at him through his blonde hair. Fuck, he hopes he doesn't start blushing.

“I,” his voice cracks, he winces and coughs to clear it and try again, “I'm sorry I didn't come back yesterday. I lost track of time. Were you okay?”

Otabek nods, hesitates, then says, “Ali.”

His eyes widen at the same time Yuri’s mouth forms a surprised ‘O’. Yuri slides tip the edge of his seat, “Ali? Alina? Oh, god, that's cute, I'm going to call her that now.” Otabek shakes his head and waves a hand back and forth, “No? Don't tell me no. She likes me, she'll let me call her whatever I want. You're her brother, you don't get a say.” Yuri sticks his tongue out at him, trying to cover the sound of his heart hammering in his chest.

Otabek pauses, then laughs, Yuri watches the tension slip out of his shoulders and feels his own dissolve and reform as butterflies in his stomach. This is new, and he kind of hates his body for doing this to him. But Otabek said a name, an honest-to-God proper name. It wasn't much, but it was progress. Yuri watches the light in Beka's eyes and smiles. His best friend is here.

Everything else can wait a little longer.

༺༻

He's somehow unsurprised to see Diaz when he leaves. The older man is leaning against the building, downwind from the entrance, smoking and watching traffic. When he catches sight of Yuri he puts waves him over casually and offers him a ride.

Yuri eyes him wearily, but nods, adjusting his skate bag on his shoulder and follows him to the car that still smells like cigarettes and something sickeningly sweet. He’s not sure why, but he feels like there’s tension between them now, like now they’re competing for Otabek’s attention and now Diaz is just scoping out the competition. Yuri sits on his hands so he doesn’t fiddle with things in the console and Diaz lets the silence stretch between them.

Yuri’s been in Almaty long enough now that streets are beginning to look familiar and they’re only a few blocks from the rink before Diaz says anything. As everything that comes out of his mouth, it only serves to throw him off balance when the Kazakh says, “We’re going to throw him a celebration in his room in a few days, you need to be there. I’ll let you know the day so you can get out of practice early and help. Watch out for Medina, she’s already started her planning and she’s already got ideas for you.”

Yuri frowns, looks at him, “A party? Is that a good idea?”

Diaz glances at him, then focuses back on the road, “He’s in the hospital, not dead. He’s awake and he remembers, sounds like a reason to celebrate to me.” Yuri’s not sure how to translate the thin pressing line Diaz’s lips form, he doesn’t sound happy, it doesn’t sound like a celebration like that. But people have had thinner excuses before, he supposes.

“Does Otabek know about it?”

Diaz shook his head, “I suggested it, but he was a bit preoccupied, I’ll bring it up again later.”

“You’re going back? You didn’t have to drive me.” Yuri sits forward, but Diaz waves a vague hand at his protest.

“Don’t worry about it, he probably needs a few minutes to himself and I like hanging out with you. I see why he talks about you all the time. Though, really, I don’t see why everyone calls you the Russian Punk, you’re pretty easy to please.”

Yuri huffed, “Only because I’ve been worried as fuck. With Lilia here to knock some sense back into me and knowing Otabek is going to be okay, I can…” he trailed off. He doesn’t want to finish that sentence. He doesn’t really know where he wants to go with it. What now? What _can_ he do now? He looks down and toys with the shoulder strap of his bag, sucking in his bottom lip to chew on it.

“What do you want?”

“What?” Yuri looks up just as Diaz turns into the rink’s parking lot.

He doesn’t speak until he’s parked in a space and turned in his seat, “Yuri. Less important is what you can do. What do you _want_ to do?”

Yuri frowns, looking back down at his bag. Diaz doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t move and gives him the time to collect his thoughts into some semblance of order, “I…” He hesitates, then tries again, “I want my best friend back.” It’s all he’s wanted since he’d gotten the message from Alina.

“What else?”

Yuri frowns, “What else is there?”

Diaz sits back in his seat, and Yuri feels like he’s failed a test.

༺༻

Lilia is _trying_ to kill him. He doesn’t have proof other than the fact that he’s currently laying on his back on the ice, staring up at the overly bright lights, trying to figure out what bruises were going to be bad tomorrow. He can even hear her talking in brisk Russian on the other side of the rink with, of all people, _Otabek’s coach_ , probably colluding with him on the best way to murder a Russian teenager and hide the body.

_What do you want to do?_ He dissects the words, closes his eyes and inhales slowly. The scent of the rink around him throws memories at him and he’s transported to hundreds of other rinks, thousands of other practices. The sound of laughter is his own rinkmates, the distant sound of Lilia is a familiar calm, the silence without an audience is like the crowd before the performance begins. It bites like adrenaline, but it all circles back to the same.

_I want Otabek here._

༺༻

Like an addict, Yuri needs a fix. He discards his bag and jacket in the front hall with his shoes, impatiently pours food for the cat, then moves across the apartment to the room he’d forbidden himself from. Otabek’s bedroom calls like a siren song and he can’t resist. He flips the light on and heads straight for the bed, but the blue of Otabek’s team jacket catches his eye and pulls his attention to the desk. He suddenly needs, and his fingers dig into the fabric and pull it from the chair before he fully recognizes what he’s doing. By the time he’s wearing it he’s blushing furiously and buries his face in the collar, glad there’s no one to see him.

Otabek’s leather pouch is on the seat of the chair, the flap open and he can see inside, everything he’d abandoned since the discovery of the netbook. The two books, his notebook, the pipe-cleaner figure. He picks it all up and takes it to the bed with him, spreads it all out. He fixes the poor figure first, holds it up to eye level and smiles at it before setting it aside.

His notebook is a mystery to himself. He doesn’t know when Otabek could have gotten a hold of it. He honestly doesn’t remember the last time he’d seen it. He picks it up and flips through a few pages, sees his own handwriting, an ugly scrawl, glare back at him, so he sets it off to the edge and picks up the books. One is in Cyrillic, and he flips through it quickly, the other is English and he reads a few random pages before he decides maybe he’ll try to read it for a little while. Maybe it will help him sleep.

He puts the other book back in the bag, then picks the bag up and shifts his weight, stretches his leg out and reaches for the notebook to put it away, too. But his foot hits it before his hand does and it spills to the floor, he hears the pages flutter and crunch as it lands open.

“Fuck.” He sets the book he wants aside and tosses the bag over the side of the bed, then slides off to pick up the notebook. His hand freezes. The notebook is open to a random page somewhere in the middle. There’s two lines scrawled in English before it changes to Cyrillic.

  


_And I can’t count the times_

_I stayed awake pretending you were mine_

  


He picks it up like it’s made of glass, like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched. His legs won’t hold him, and he falls to his knees. сенімен pads up to him, nudges his knee, but Yuri can’t move, can’t even breathe. It’s _lyrics_ , Yuri realizes, and he drags his eyes down the entire page, but it’s all in Cyrillic, like a secret code and he’s not invited to actually read it. Why would Otabek put this in his notebook? He flips through a few more pages and finds more writing, flips back through them all and realizes it’s all the same. It’s the _same_ song. Over and over, lines crossed out and rewritten. On and on until he hits blank pages again. He flips back to the last page, at the bottom are two more English words and then Otabek’s DJ signature.

_I Surrender_

༺༻

The other end of the line rings and rings. Yuri paces, clutches the notebook to his chest and listens to the tone repeat over and over. When voicemail clicks on, he hangs up and dials again, long-distance charges be damned.

“Ngh, hello?” The voice on the other end is rough and sleep-filled. Yuri doesn’t care.

“I want my best friend back.”

“What?” The sound of fabric moving, “Yuri? What time is it?”

“I want to face off with him in the rink. I want to go explore cities with him. I want to ride his motorcycle with him. I want to see him smile and hear him laugh. I’ve been right here, waiting. I’m willing to keep waiting as long as I need to. But I want it, Diaz. I want what I-we had, and I want more. You’ve been fooled, Diaz, I _am_ the Russian Punk and I always get what I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _REMINDER: PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE IF YOU GO FIND THE SONG DO NOT SAY THE NAME/ARTIST IN THE COMMENTS AND SPOIL IT FOR EVERYONE WHO DOESN'T WANT TO KNOW YET_  
>     
> I will link the song when Yuri himself actually hears it all together for the first time.
> 
> [Come yell at me on Tumblr](https://ded-i-am-just-ded.tumblr.com/). I'm practically always shit-posting on there. Go read [my other stuff](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ded_i_am_just_ded/works) too.


	11. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His bike purrs to life under him and he clicks on his helmet, doing one last check that everything is secure before pushing the kickstand up and heading out onto the main road.
> 
> He doesn’t remember anything after that left turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People asked for it. HERE IT IS, AS PROMISED.
> 
> LOOK AT THE MOOD BOARD I BEGGED LECHEESIE FOR! I HAVE ANOTHER ONE FROM TITANIUMPLATEDSPINE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER TOO <3 <3 <3 ily both :D

**TEN**

It takes all of twenty minutes for Yuri to reply to his taunting message, a quick snap of his headphones on the keyboard of his laptop, a mixing program on the screen. He’s made sure that the save file name _MarchBirthdays_ is visible, so he’s honestly surprised it takes that long, but it’s a Friday and Yuri is probably still at the rink. When he gets the messages, he’s brushing his teeth and pauses to read them, toothbrush tucked in his cheek.

_‘!!!!!’_

_‘THAT BETTER BE FOR ME.’_

_‘WAit, why is it plural?’_

_‘BEKA’_

Otabek smiles around the toothbrush, then sets the phone aside, intentionally ignoring his best friend to finish getting ready. After he’s done with his teeth he does a quick razor through his undercut and a brush through his hair, then raids his dresser for one of his favorite after-hours work outfits. He can hear his phone continuing to vibrate with messages that come more consistently the longer he ignores it, and it’s stupid how much he enjoys knowing he has Yuri’s attention, especially the day before he knows Yuri is competing.

He pulls on a white mesh shirt and is putting his arm into a [black and grey 3/4ths sleeve blazer](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1CQF0IFXXXXbfXFXXq6xXFXXXn/blazer-men-version-of-casual-2015-Men-s-Suit-Big-Yards-suit-jacket-men-Jackets-blazer.jpg_640x640.jpg) when his phone notifies him of an incoming Skype call. He pauses, then goes to the bathroom and picks up the phone, eyebrow lifting at Yuri’s name on his screen. Yuri must be desperate to be calling him when he knows he’s working tonight.

He smirks and hits the ignore button.

Yuri calls again an instant later, it’s so fast Otabek actually laughs out loud, startling Лео who had trailed into the bathroom after him, he watches the kitten flee the room back to the safety of his bedroom. He lets it ring twice before he hangs it up again. Yuri sends a flurry of messages, mostly half-typed insults.

When there’s a pause, he finally types, _‘I have to get going, you should relax and focus on tomorrow. Eat something, I know you haven’t.’_

His reply is a picture of a plate of bland looking food and, _‘fuck u’_

Otabek snaps a photo of himself in the mirror and sends it off for approval in reply.

༺༻

The sun’s already set by the time he pulls his motorcycle into his reserved spot at the back of the club. It’s still early, but he can hear the music inside calling for people, beckoning the crowds to line up for opening time, and he’s a bit surprised to see the line when he rounds the building to the entrance. He shifts his bag on his shoulder and tugs his jacket closer a little before approaching, keeping his head down to hide his face. They’ve got posters of it plastered all over the front of the building and the last thing he really needs is to be spotted, but the back door has been busted for months and can only be opened from inside, so he’s forced to go through the front.

Oraz bumps his fist and lets him through, then blocks the door like a brick wall again and recognition must ripple through the crowd as a cheer goes up then dies away. He glances back, but there’s nothing to see except Oraz’s broad shoulders, so he winds through the dark hall and into the empty theatre.

“There he is!” Medina is up on the platform, headphones around her neck, and she steps away from the boards to lean over the railing and wave at him as if he doesn’t see her _all the time_. He waves at her once, then crosses the empty dancefloor, watching the flashing lights on the ground, to the bar to check in with the owner. Tazhibai smiles at him and moves to the fridges to fish out his usual request for a beer before his performances and he assumes water is already up on the platform.

“There’s a crowd outside already, did you do some advertising?”

Tazhi grins and he sees her earrings flash in the neon lights before they hide in her curly hair when she shakes her head, “That’s all you, sweet thing. I just flash your name on our page and they all come running. Hope you’ve got some magic for us tonight.”

Otabek drains a quarter of the beer, then pats the bar with his hand, “Don’t I always?” He points a finger at her, then heads for the platform, taking the stairs two at a time to meet Medina at the top. He flips open his bag, fishes out a USB stick, pausing when his hand finds an MP3 player. For a moment, he’s confused, but then he remembers and his eyes widen.

“Beshka?” Medina’s voice drags him back into the present and he lets it drop back into the bottom of the bag.

“Yeah. Yeah, here. Get this in, I’ll be right back.” He tosses her the stick, then heads down for the makeshift green room hiding behind curtains at the bottom of the stairs, through a door in the wall. The sudden silence behind the thick door is a strange comfort, but the bass echoes in his ears still and does nothing to silence the other song suddenly filling his mind.

He shouldn’t be thinking about any of this right now. He needs to focus and thinking about Yuri is really the farthest thing from focusing on work as he can get. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he fishes it out before he sheds his leather jacket and hangs it with his bag on a hook on the wall.

It’s a snap from Mila, which is not what he was expecting, but when he opens it, he sees why he got it. It’s Mila and Yuri, both of their hair wrapped up in towels, faces covered in sickeningly green-colored goop, wearing hotel bathrobes and reclining on a bed. Both are giving him a thumbs up with serious expressions and the caption simply says _davai._

Otabek doesn’t care that they’ll see when he does it; he screenshots it before it can vanish and puts it in his folder of Yuri photos, which is stupidly large and he should probably clean out at some point. He doesn’t send a reply to Mila, but shoots Yuri one more message before he tucks his phone away in his jacket again.

_‘Sleep well, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’_

༺༻

_They’d gone to a club together exactly once since the Madness fiasco, and it had been relatively tame, since they’d been accompanied by literally every other skater in the circuit. This time, though, they were slipping out unnoticed, heading as far on the other side of town as Otabek’s rental bike and Google Maps would take them. They couldn’t read the sign outside, and the bouncer at the door didn’t understand English or Russian so the language barrier made it interesting getting in, but once inside it was like any other club Otabek had played._

_Only, he wasn’t playing the stage that time. He watched the lights play with Yuri’s blonde hair as he weaved through the crowded bodies like he was invisible, dragging Otabek along by the wrist behind him. They hit the bar first, Otabek managing a beer while Yuri somehow got across his need for something with vodka, which made Otabek laugh and earned him a sharp glare. Yuri finished his in a few short gulps, then gestured to the dancefloor, eyes already sharp and analyzing. Otabek shook his head and held up his beer, to which Yuri rolled his eyes and abandoned him to wander into the crowd._

_Otabek shifted on his barstool until he could see the blonde, who already seemed at home, lifting his hands up into the air with the strangers around him, hips gyrating to the beat. Otabek knew how these dances went, had seen it unfold a million times before. People were almost always single when they started out on the floor, everyone there was there to_ move _, after all. The beat shifted and the crowd started bouncing to match the heavy bass, arms waving wildly. Otabek lost Yuri to the insanity that descended._

_He drained his beer and pushed himself to his feet, hunting for the blonde. Bodies jumped higher as the song reached its peak, and then suddenly dipped into a lull. Blue lights seemed to summon him as he stepped towards the floor, and he suddenly found his best friend again. Yuri was facing him, arms above him, head tipped back, blonde hair loose tangles over his shoulder and down his back. He had his eyes closed and just a hint of a smile on his lips that made Otabek’s steps falter and his heart stutter._

_He both loved and hated seeing Yuri like this, intimate and anonymous, untouched and innocent, beautiful and free. He burned like fire, moved like smoke, lived like nothing Otabek had ever experienced. Otabek wasn’t sure how he’d ever been so lucky to earn Yuri’s attention. He clenched his hand into a fist, dragged in a calming breath, then crossed the dancefloor just as the song shifted. Yuri must have sensed him, he tilted his head down, eyelashes fluttering. His smile grew wider as sea-green met brown and a delicate hand extended an invitation._

_Otabek never danced at the clubs he went to, he was always there to perform or to drink with friends. That was the first time he’d ever danced anywhere without ice, and the first time he’d heard the beginnings of a song in his head that wouldn’t leave him be._

༺༻

The set goes better than well, he plays until closing time and his take in tips is huge. He counts out the bills again before tucking them away in his jacket pocket. He’s not one for interacting with his audience, but some people pay good money for VIP and he returns to the after-party for a brief meet-and-greet to sign autographs and take a few photos. It’s nearly four am by the time he’s finally heading back to his motorcycle, shouting one more good-bye to Tazhibai as he make sure she gets in her car before he finds his key and his phone.

It’s been a long night and he doesn’t have anywhere to be in the morning, so he’ll probably sleep through his alarm he’d set to watch Yuri’s live-stream, so he pulls up their Skype and shoots off one more message.

_‘Good morning. Kick everyone else’s ass. Davai.’_

His bike purrs to life under him and he clicks on his helmet, doing one last check that everything is secure before pushing the kickstand up and heading out onto the main road.

He doesn’t remember anything after that left turn.

༺༻

Things come back slowly. He hears Yuri’s voice, but it's in a fog and all he wants to do is sleep. Yuri wouldn't be in Almaty, anyway.

He goes back to sleep, because Yuri will be there in his dreams. 

༺༻

The next time he's aware of anything, his sister is leaning over him and he can smell his father's cologne. Where is he? Why are his parents and sister there? He hears his mother coo at him, fingers in his hair, and he fights against drowsiness that tries to pull him back so he can look at her. His body doesn't move like he wants it to and his eyes won't focus. 

His mother is saying something, he knows it's Kazakh, but his brain won't translate it to mean anything. Everything hurts in a dull, far off way, like he's disconnected from himself. He barely feels when a soft hand lifts his and Alina leans into his line of sight again.

There's a constant beep to his left and something sharp in his arm and his leg is propped up and numb. He's trying to piece it all together, but nothing fits. He'd finished the club, headed home. 

He finally understands the word, “Doctor.” and things start to fall into place. Hospital. Something bad happened. ана is crying, fingers in his hair again as she stumbles through words he can't catch. He closes his eyes again to try to focus on what she's saying. 

When he opens them, the room is dark and he's alone.

༺༻

Alina talks. She has always been the talker of the two, but now he thinks she does it because he can't. Won't. She tells him Yuri is here, sleeping in his apartment and that makes him both embarrassed and happy. She tells him she took Yuri to MEGA Ice and how pretty he is in person and how worried they've all been. 

He's pieced together what he can, but he can't remember anything. His bike is totaled, his leg will take time to heal, his skating career may be ruined. The first sucks, the second is annoying, the third is devastating. It sets him on edge and it makes him forget simple things quickly. He chases Alina off with a dark look so he can come to terms on his own. 

He hasn't even seen Yuri yet. Maybe Yuri will make one visit, hear the doctor say he's done with his skating career and bail. What good is Otabek if he can't compete? He's nothing to Yuri if he can't be competition. It's an ugly thought and it makes him scare off a nurse later in the evening.

There's no sign of Yuri or his friends for days, though his mother says they're worried about him. He feels bitter about it at first, finds himself in the stages of grief. It's only on the third day he realizes it's the doctors keeping them away. Because he can't convey his thoughts properly.

Because he's been broken and they can't figure out how to fix him. He can think what he wants to say, he practices it over and over in his mind, but when he tries to push it out, to make words, it's all wrong. The anger returns. It fast becomes a friend that follows him into sleep.

༺༻

He’s moved rooms and every time he wakes it’s disorienting. He’s lost to begin with, and the scenery chance just makes it worse. But one morning he wakes up to the sun slipping through the blinds and he realizes there’s someone there with him. He’s sure it’s the medication in his IV when he finds Yuri beside him. Yuri’s voice is so soft, he thinks it’s just a figment of his imagination.

But then Yuri keeps talking, “There are easier ways to get me to visit, you know.” He turns his head to the side, “Your family has been nice and your friends are interesting? Loud. Weird.” Yuri looks back at him again and it frees something inside his chest, “Not you.”

Maybe he can do this. With Yuri here, maybe things will be okay. For the first time in days, he makes an effort to move on his own. In the end, it takes help, but they get him sitting upright and he feels more like himself than he has in _days_. Maybe it’s because he moved, maybe it’s because Yuri is here, but he feels like maybe, _maybe_ , things can get better.

Yuri talks. Otabek hears, but he can’t listen. All he wants is to say his name. If he can do that, maybe it will be a new beginning, the silver lining he’s been looking for. _Yura_. He thinks it to himself, he’s said it a million times, _Yura._ It’s a prayer he wants heard so, so bad. _Yura._

 _Yura._ He watches Yuri’s eyes, the light in them as he animates himself in his story. _Yura. Yura._ ** _Yura._**

“Green.” No. Fuck.

“What?” Yuri sounds breathless.

That isn’t what he wanted to say. Why would he say that? Why is his body doing this to him? He wants to apologize, to try again, to explain away everything. Of course, nothing he wants to say comes out, only, “Three kings.”

Curse it all. He can see Yuri trying to figure it out. But there’s nothing for him to figure out, Otabek knows he’s destroyed. He curls his hands into fists and fights the urge to press the morphine button until he can’t breathe. It wouldn’t work, but it would make him feel better temporarily.

Pale fingers cover his hand, draw him out of his dark thoughts. He looks up and Yuri looks him in the eye and says, “We’ll figure this out, Beka.”

Otabek takes his hand and believes him.

༺༻

He dreams a lot, his brain trying to reconnect the pieces. He would label them nightmares, but one of them may be true. All of them end in bright light and his bike skidding sideways. Sometimes, Yuri is with him, a warmth against his back, hands around his waist that vanish and leave him shaking when he wakes up.

Diaz is watching him when he bolts awake, he looks like a shadow of his usual collected self. Otabek classifies his life into four categories; family, skating, Yura, and his friends. He's known Diaz and Medina for forever, he learned to braid hair watching Diaz, learned his first music mixing program from Medina, performed on his first stage with both of them. Before Yuri, they were what he thought all friendships were like. He's, of course, learned the difference by now. And he's learned Diaz can read him easier than almost anyone.

Diaz doesn't ask questions, it's probably pretty obvious what he was dreaming about, all things considered. Instead, he runs fingers through his curled hair, sighs, and says, “If you fuck this up, I will kill you myself and Medina has volunteered to help hide your body.”

Otabek frowns and hits the button to incline his bed, wincing as it bends him in sore places. Diaz doesn’t expand on his threat, he stands up and starts pacing, hands in his hair again. It takes a few moments and two treks across the small room before Diaz says, “You know that kid flew out here the day after the accident? Alina said he didn’t even have a fucking hotel room arranged, so that’s why he’s at your place. He literally dropped his entire life to be here.” He paces back to the foot of the bed, “We’ve all been worried about you, but that kid--Yuri--but Yuri’s been a walking ball of stress since he got here. I don’t know all the details, we’ve tried to hang out with him when we could, but…”

Diaz walks back to the window and looks outside, “I took him to the studio. I played him the acoustics of your song.” Otabek freezes, eyes going wide. Diaz still doesn’t turn around, just continues, “I didn’t tell him anything about it, but he was skating to that horrible file you sent me originally, with you humming the tune. It was sad, I couldn’t leave him to listen to that when we didn’t know if…” Diaz finally turns as he trails off, looking at his friend, “So when you get feeling up to it, we’ll all celebrate your survival. And then you talk. to. him.” 

The door to the room opens while Diaz is ranting, and there’s too many things going on. Yuri is here. Yuri’s heard his music. Yuri’s heard his song. Yuri knows. But how much? And how much has he found in the apartment? Maybe he’s been too busy with other things. Maybe he’s kept to himself. Yuri is avoiding his eyes, it makes him nervous. What is going on? Otabek offers him a smile, tries to make him relax.

“You’re both idiots. If neither of you figure it out, maybe I’ll just murder you both.” Diaz finally realizes Yuri is in the room, it doesn’t seem to phase him, probably because Yuri can’t understand him. He looks between the two of them, zips up his jacket and says, “I should give you guys some space. Think about it, Beshka, I know what I'm talking about.” Pointing a finger at him, before brushing past the bed and out the door.

Yuri turns to watch him leave, then spins back, frowning, “What was-" He cuts himself off, lifting his free hand as if Otabek will interrupt, “Never mind, I don't want to know.”

Otabek smiles again, but it fades when Yuri looks away. What is going on? Yuri is obviously uncomfortable being here. Maybe something has happened? Did he do something wrong? Is Lilia taking him home? What is bothering him?

Yuri shifts in his seat and twists his hands together, still not looking at him, “I'm sorry I didn't come back yesterday. I lost track of time. Were you okay?”

Otabek nods. Yesterday was a whirlwind of visitors. Yesterday was Yuri’s first day of practice at Otabek’s rink, he hadn’t really been expecting him to come back. And his sister had kept him company for most of the day anyway. He takes a chance, pushes her name from his brain to his lips, “Ali.” 

“Ali? Alina? Oh, god, that's cute, I'm going to call her that now.” Otabek shakes his head and waves a hand back and forth. Oh god, she’d kill Otabek if she ever found out Yuri got the idea from him. She _hated_ that name growing up, “No? Don't tell me no. She likes me, she'll let me call her whatever I want. You're her brother, you don't get a say.” Yuri sticks his tongue out at him.

Otabek pauses, then laughs. It feels amazing. He can do this. Whatever was wrong seems to no longer be bothering Yuri. Maybe it’s because Otabek said what he meant, maybe it’s just because they’re together again. It makes Otabek brave, and he holds out his hand, palm up.

Yuri hesitates, then takes it, fingers a little cold and careful. Otabek holds on to him carefully and meets his eyes again. The blonde uses his free hand to push his hair out of his eye and leans forward in his chair.

“By the way, I renamed your cat.”

༺༻

The fight is all uphill, he has physical therapy on his good leg and his arms every morning, the speech therapist comes in after lunch. He feels like he fails more than he succeeds with both. With his fractured leg, he can’t do much until it begins to heal, so he’s stuck mostly in his bed, and his brain still feels scattered when he tries to do anything too taxing. He can’t write lyrics, he can’t mix music, he can only read for so long before blinding headaches hit him.

But they tell him it’s getting better, that he’s getting better. He finally manages to get Medina to bring him a board and marker so he can at least write quick thoughts and replies out to people and that makes everything feel a million times easier. He tries not to rely on it, but sometimes trying to speak gets to be too frustrating. Especially when he argued with Diaz to hold off his ‘party’ until he could say full sentences.

It’s been two weeks since he learned Лео is now Cinnamon and he’s amazed he’s only seen Lilia twice and she was relatively pleasant both times. All he can figure is Yuri must be trying his best to appease her so she doesn’t ship them both home. Otabek honestly has no idea how Yuri has managed to stay so long, much less _why_ he would. He has work to do, the new season has begun, he has competitions coming up, he should go home and get ready. And yet he’s still here, in Almaty, visiting him every morning and most evenings, staying most of his free days in the hospital room telling him about everything and nothing. Otabek feels like he’s still alive because of Yuri’s voice.

“Come, Otabek. It’s been long enough, let’s swing those legs over the side of the bed.” His physical therapist has been pushing for this for the past few days. He seems to think Otabek is ready to stand up again, maybe even take a few steps. Otabek is less than willing to believe him, especially when he gets his legs over the side of the bed and pushes himself up with his good arm only to have dizziness slam into him like a brick wall.

“I’ve got you,” at least his therapist has a soothing voice, “Your body isn’t used to it anymore, let’s take it slow and give it time to adjust. Your brain needs to sort out the orientation again, so don’t move too quickly.”

He closes his eyes and says a short prayer, but the room still spins when he opens them again. He knew recovery was going to be difficult, but he’s always trained hard, he’d figured he’s ready for anything. Apparently, he’s not. There’s an arm under his and one around his waist on his bad side, and it’s urging him to rise. The therapist wants him to lean his weight on him like a crutch, so he does, and almost falls as his good leg almost gives out.

But in the end, it doesn’t. He stays where he is while his blood circulates and makes him dizzy again. Then the therapist is reaching for crutches and explaining how they work, but Otabek can only half focus on the words.

The door opens and sunlight pours in. But it isn’t sunlight. It’s in human form, and it pauses, still holding the door. The therapist turns to scold the interruption, but Otabek puts his good hand out to stop him.

“Yura.”

The golden figure laughs and it’s the most beautiful music Otabek has ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you've probably noticed, this one was written in a different tone from other chapters. _Intentional_. Since it's Beka's story. Next chapter we go back to Yuri.
> 
> As always, feel free to come bother me on [Tumblr](https://ded-i-am-just-ded.tumblr.com/)!


	12. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He regrets. He regrets everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful moodboard from the fantastic [titaniumplatedspine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/titaniumplatedspine) <3

****

**ELEVEN**

“Yura.”

One word and everything feels like brand new. Like a drink of cold water, Yuri has to hold onto the door or his legs might give out. As it is, he has to lean forward and a peal of laughter escapes him. Today is a day of miracles. Otabek is standing, and he said his _name_. Not just his name, but Otabek’s name for him. It makes him feel light, like he could conquer the world.

He straightens and grins, sees the soft smile on Otabek’s lips, the disapproving frown on the other man in the room, the physical therapist. Yuri points behind himself, “I can leave…?”

“No.” Otabek says before the therapist can say anything, then waves his hand towards the crutch in his hand, reaching for it. The specialist shoots one more nasty look Yuri’s way then turns to ignore the Russian and resume his short lesson on crutches. Yuri’s grin returns and he closes the door, leans against it and crosses his arms across his chest.

The two are talking in the weird mix of Kazakh and Russian that he’s learned is popular in Almaty, it’s weird to catch only random words and not understand the whole sentence. The therapist steps back, keeps a hand hovering near Otabek’s shoulder but lets him go. Yuri’s eyes widen and he straightens. Otabek is standing, supporting his own weight.

Today is a day of miracles.

༺༻

Yuri's theme for the season has been ‘Lamentation’, a theme he had fought vehemently for against all of Lilia and Yakov’s protests. He felt, when he decided on the theme, that his _dedushka_ deserved a season of mourning, deserved a final long goodbye. Now, as he sweeps across the ice, he feels like everything has deeper meanings. He feels like his body curls and twists differently. Like his jumps take him higher. He thinks maybe Lamentation was just the beginning of his theme and he's evolving it into more.

They built the choreographies carefully, made sure each move had a purpose, fit as many jumps into the second halves of both skates as possible. This is the first year Lilia has let him really have a say in it and they spent many nights in her home moving through steps after dinner and pouring over the music until they've perfected it as much as possible until he can put it to the competitive test again.

He feels Lilia’s eyes on him, following him across the empty expanse of the rink, so he adds a triple toe loop in just to show off a little before lifting his leg up behind him floating across the ice with his arms outstretched. He can almost feel her frown of disapproval. He closes his eyes and smiles, feels his speed slow.

“Yuratchka.”

It feels as easy as breathing. He drops his arms, doesn't look to acknowledge her, but swings around to the center of the rink. He brings his arms up in his starting pose and the music starts. The song begins slow, reminds him of standing in the cemetery with Beka at his side, it draws him into its darkness and coils around him. He knows it's just practice, but he still feels it in his chest, lets it pour out of him in waves.

There's a sudden upbeat in the song, like a clap of thunder, and he accentuates it with a flip. When he lands, he feels the shift in his blood. He is mourning, he will probably carry it with him forever, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. He loves his grandfather, but his _deduska_ was so much more than the ground he was placed in; he would be disappointed if ‘Lamentation’ is really all Yuri takes away from the season. Yuri jumps again, raises his hand, thinks of Otabek’s eyes. His smile and the sound of his voice.

He’s soon gasping for breath, but doesn't notice, swings into his final quad and feels like he's flying. His closing step sequence is simple in comparison, the song coming to a close like a feather drifting to the ground. Yuri draws a circle in the ice around himself with his skate, his eyes skyward, one hand hovering as if blocking out the sunlight.

It's his best run yet, every muscle in his body hums fire at him in protest because of it. He holds the pose two more beats, then let's his hand fall and hunts out Lilia’s criticism. She's watching him, arms crossed, but her eyes are softer than he's ever seen them. This program is perfect, Yuri decides, if he can make Lilia speechless.

Yuri realizes they aren't alone. Medina is in the doorway, when she sees him look at her she grins, waves and bounces like one of his Angels at a competition.

He's feeling good, so he smiles at her.

༺༻

He regrets. He regrets everything. He regrets smiling at her, he regrets letting her talk to Lilia, he regrets following her out of the rink. He regrets getting in her car and forgetting that she's the long-lost spirit animal of Mila.

He's not really sure where they are; some sort of party store, but she's talking a mile a minute, switching between Russian at him and Kazakh as she calls what seems like twenty different people on her cellphone. He's trailing her down aisles and she's throwing items at him. He wonders if the hospital will allow literally any of the items she's picking out.

They reach the end of the napkins aisle when she spins around. She's incredibly intimidating, hands on her brightly colored hips, surrounded by a backdrop of a wall of balloons, and she looks him up and down.

“Is that what you're going to wear?”

He frowns, looks down. He's in black skinny jeans and his zip-up hoodie, it's not exactly fashionable, but he _did_ just get practically thrown out of skating practice, “It's what I'm wearing right now.” He shoots back, unhelpfully.

She gives him a once-over, then a half smirk, then spins on her heel and vanishes around the corner, calling over her shoulder, “It's a good thing Otabek doesn't mind.”

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Did she just…? Was she insulting his fashion sense? He looked towards the ceiling like some higher being could help him.

“Yuri!” She's Mila’s lost twin, he swears, she even whines out his name the same way.

When he joins her in the next aisle she drapes herself over his shoulder, twisting a chunk of his hair in her fingers and stares at it like she's deep in thought. She has the gall to ask, “Would you let me cut it?”

Mila’s lost _evil_ twin.

༺༻

He only just manages to save his hair from scissors or razors or _whatever_ nefarious plot she has by letting her drag him clothes shopping after the party store. _Apparently_ , his clothes aren’t good enough for a simple get-together in a hospital room. They go through four stores before she finally finds clothes that meet her approval that he’ll actually agree with, then makes him pay for them. He doesn’t mind, watching her look so happy makes him miss his Russian friends, just a little. He is never going to tell anyone that, though.

After the shopping spree, she piles him back in her car and drives him back to the apartment. He puts his foot down when she tries to follow him upstairs, “Don’t you have stuff to do? Other people to annoy?”

She casts a sunny smile at him, “I promised I’d take care of you, but if you think you can handle it all yourself…”

Yuri pauses, turns to look at her, “Excuse me? Do I look like I need a babysitter? I think I’m doing just fine on my own. I’ve been dressing myself for years and everything. I’ll admit I enjoyed the excursion but I’d like to take a shower and sleep by myself, thank you very much.”

Nothing phases her, if anything her smile grows bigger, “Then be at the hospital by four tomorrow, okay? We can only be there until visiting hours are over.”

He nods, then watches her until she’s back in her car and driving away before he heads up to the apartment to follow through with his plans for the evening.

༺༻

_The image was dark, the camera fighting to try to focus on something. Someone was laughing and the microphone kept brushing against something, causing loud bursts of static. There were muffled voices, and a hiss of, “Shh.” then the sound of metal._

_The darkness went on for too long, along with the strange sounds and the failed attempts at silencing laughter. When the video hit 2:47 light burst across it, then faded as it adjusted back into the dimness. The image of Yuri appeared, arm extended to hold the phone up like a selfie-attempt. He pushed his bangs out of his eyes and exhaled a long breath, then glanced off to the side again and laughed at something happening off-camera._

_“Beka...Beka, c’mere.” The Russian gestured with his hand, trying to get the other to appear, “What are we doing?”_

_Off the screen, the reply came, “I’m trying to get us a great view of the sunset like you whined about yesterday, I don’t know what you’re doing.”_

_Yuri stuck his tongue out in the direction of the voice._

_Something that sounded vaguely like, “Promises, promises.” was the only response before a loud echo of metal clangs and Yuri let out a pleased ‘whoop’ sound, almost dropping the camera during the cheer._

_He grinned at his image, “I guess I better turn this off then, not that we’re doing anything illegal, right?”_

_Otabek made a noise in reply and Yuri held up two fingers in a peace sign at the camera, and winked at it before the video ended abruptly._

Yuri bites the pad of his thumb and stares at the frozen image of himself. He has always loved these videos, has never regret making them, but now he finds he’s watching them specifically for his best friend. He huffs a breath, he’s getting really bad at this. He looks up and around the small bedroom he’s in, forces himself to acknowledge who’s blankets he’s currently curled up in. Yeah, he’s got it really bad.

He swipes the image on the phone screen to the next video and hit play.

_Otabek was standing against a sunset, leaned up against the edge of a half-wall. His hair was freshly cut, a little shorter than he usually liked it. He had his hands in his leather jacket and was looking out towards the horizon. The camera held still for a long moment, before zooming in on him and his face, waiting to be noticed._

_It never happened and Yuri had a short attention span, so he changed angles, moved it back to a selfie-shot, making himself the main focus and stepping up beside his best friend, “And here we have the elusive Otabek Altin, professional figure skater, motorcycle enthusiast, and expert lock-picker.” He formed an invisible microphone with his free hand and held it towards Otabek’s face, “How does it feel to be trespassing with a minor on private property?”_

_Otabek’s lip curled just a hint and he glanced at the camera then back at the scenery, casually replying, “It’d feel better if said minor wasn’t trying to get me to commit homicide as well.”_

_Yuri huffed, “What’s that mean?”_

_“It means shut up and watch the sunset you wanted to see.”_

_Yuri shot the camera another grin, then stepped away from Otabek, propping it up on a rock. The blonde took far too long lining the camera up to shoot only the horizon. When he was done, he vanished from the screen and silence descended._

_It took the sun only two minutes from the time he stepped away for it to set and twilight to set in. (_ Yuri remembers even then, they didn’t move when it was over _.) The sounds of the night began to pick up, traffic from somewhere far away and nocturnal creatures waking._

_“We should get going, before we get caught.” The familiar soft crackle of Otabek’s leather jacket as he moves._

_“Wait.” Yuri’s voice was soft, Otabek’s movement stilled, “Just a little longer? I want to see the stars, too.”_

_There was more sounds of fabric as Otabek settled again, “A few more minutes. We really aren’t supposed to be here.”_

_“I know.” There was a smile in his voice, then a soft sigh._

Yuri watches the video until it cuts off, five minutes later, even though there’s no movement or conversation for the rest of it.

༺༻

Lilia meets him in front of the dance studio and it sends warning bells off in his head. Usually, she’s already inside, with the room lit and the music going, but today she’s got her phone to her ear and talking to someone until she sees his cab pull to a stop. He frowns and meets her at the front doors of the building, where she passes him a small to-go cup of tea from her free hand then tucks her phone away. Yuri frowns at her back, but she doesn’t say anything as she leads them inside.

Instead of heading for the locker rooms, he follows her and she takes him to a white couch in the lobby and sits, looking up at him expectantly until he follows, carefully dropping his bag to the floor, “What? What’s wrong?”

She frowns, more so than usual, and doesn’t beat around the bush, “It’s almost October, Rostelecom is coming up fast.”

His fingers freeze and he knows where her train of thought is going, “But they haven’t announced his release date yet. You said-”

“Do you want to be in the Grand Prix this year?”

“Of course, but-”

“Yuri.” He bites his lip. He knows she’s right. It doesn’t mean he has to like it. She stands, smooths down her pant legs, “I’ll be booking the flight this afternoon while you’re at the hospital. Change and join me when you’re ready.”

She leaves him to stare at the space she’d occupied, her heels clicking on the linoleum as she heads to the elevator bays. Rostelecom. The Grand Prix. The world really has kept moving on without him, time really has kept going forward. After Rostelecom it’ll be the NHK in November and the Grand Prix in December. There won’t be much time at all.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He can do this. Like he told Diaz, he’s the Russian Punk, the Ice Tiger. He’s been away from his home territory for maybe a bit too long. Otabek is awake and talking and beginning to walk again. He’ll be expecting Yuri to win this for them. Anything else would be a letdown.

Yuri shoves himself to his feet. Time is ticking away. October is looming and Lilia is taking Almaty away from him. Is taking him away from Otabek and everyone he’s met since coming here. Otabek has his battles to fight, it’s time Yuri steps up and claims his place in his own war.

༺༻

This is the loudest Otabek's hospital room has been since Yuri got to Almaty. It should bother him, but it's kind of nice to step into the room and be greeted by a cheer of, “YURI!” from around the room, followed quickly by a chorus of, “Shh!”

He’s not here of his own desire, if it had been up to him, he’d have stayed at the apartment until everyone had left and then snuck in later to see Otabek. Instead, Medina had shown up at the apartment door, shoved her way in before he knew what was going on and was pushing him towards the shower, telling him to hurry up while she got his clothes ready. He’d stood his ground on his hair after he’d washed it, getting away with a single loose braid, but had lost the fight on makeup, with a thin line of dark eyeliner sweeping around his eyes and up in a cat-eye style and a brush of something over his skin. Medina said it made his cheekbones looks sharper then grinned at him like there was an inside joke he was missing somewhere.

As it is, he scans faces, there's ten or so other people, including Alina, who winks at him then returns to the conversation she's having with Diaz. He's not sure how so many people can fit into such a small room. It’s definitely warmer with so many bodies and he’s actually kind of grateful for the clothes Medina chose.

“Yura.” Otabek is on the edge of his bed and Yuri gravitates to him and his voice easily. Otabek still can’t say a whole lot, but his therapy is going well and his vocabulary has expanded. Words get mixed up still, but they’re at least able to have conversations. He sheds his Team Russia jacket as he gets to what he’s dubbed as His Chair and is pleased when Otabek does a once over and then looks again.

Medina has forced him into a cropped-top, had tried to get him to take one with [palm trees](http://www.moraki.net/apps/webstore/products/show/5948845) but he’d gone for the one with the black and white cheetah print (he’s not a savage, or a girl, thank you very much) with cut-out squares under the arms hinting at bits of skin. He’s also pulled on black leggings with braided white lacing down the sides that he’s pretty sure accentuates the curves in his muscular legs rather well. Otabek seems to agree, if his eyes returning to them for a third time are anything to go by.

Yura lets him look, then drops into the chair, crossing his arms, “Just so you know, I don’t want to be here.” Otabek frowns, his eyebrows drop and Yuri realizes what his complaint sounded like, so he shakes his head, “Not like that. I mean, I’d rather this whole stupid party wasn’t going on. I’d rather it was just us.”

Otabek’s smile returns, the familiar curl of the corner of his lip he does when they aren’t alone and he leans forward, “Me too. Since we’re not, though, do you want some cake?”

Yuri blinks, sits up and looks around, “There’s cake?”

Otabek gestures over towards Alina and Diaz and Yuri realizes the small table has been taken over by food and drinks. Otabek produces his crutches from out of seemingly nowhere and is already moving before Yuri fully registers and jumps up to escort him. People move out of their way, but stop Otabek to talk. Alina waves at Yuri with a single jerk of her hand and summons him over, the blonde feeling almost guilty to abandon his friend to the talkative person Otabek’s found himself stuck with.

Alina grins at him, “Glad you could make it.”

Yuri wrinkles his nose and steals a chip off her plate, “Don’t worry, I’m not here by choice. I hate these socializing things and I can’t believe your brother agreed to this.”

“He didn’t really. Medina kind of steam-rolled through his protests.” Alina nibbles on a piece of food, glances around the room, then back to him, “Somehow, I don’t think the party is the reason why you’re unhappy.”

“What is it with you Altins? Did you all get a manual on how to read me?”

Alina’s dark eyes light up and she laughs, “If by manual you mean Otabek talking about you enough that you were family before you got here, then yes.” That warms him a little and he looks down at his shoes, suddenly very interested in the scuff on the front of the right one, “What’s wrong, Yura?”

He bites his lip, debates leaving the news until later, but it’s burning a hole in his chest, so he forces himself to lift his head, “Rostelecom is coming up.” Alina nods slowly, but doesn’t say anything, so he continues, “I...I have to go back to Russia.”

The words burn like acid and he moves to the table to blindly fill a plate with food, not really paying attention to what he’s putting on it.

“When?”

“Lilia’s booking them this afternoon. She said she’d let me know.”

Alina is quiet for too long, “Have you told Otabek yet?” It makes him pause, his fingers tremor over a tray of vegetables, “You haven’t. Oh, Yuri. He’ll understand, you know how he is, but you better tell him soon.”

Yuri sets the plate down in an empty space on the table and looks over at her, “I know. But I’m not ready to go back yet. There’s so much I…” He trails off, tries to figure out how to word his thoughts, “I’m not ready.”

She sets a soft hand on his arm, “You will be. Look at everything you’ve done since you got here. You might not realize it but you’re a stone in Otabek’s foundation. You gave the rest of us something we couldn’t see through our worry and fear. You showed up when you didn’t have to and you gave us strength and hope. And when Otabek woke up you gave him the motivation to keep going. You’ve already done enough, Yuri. Let us take care of him, it’s time for you to get back to being you.” She leans into his side, her head pressing into his shoulder, “It may be time for you to go back to Russia, but remember; home is where you make it.”

He rests his head on top of hers and closes his eyes. _Home is where you make it._ Behind them, he hears Otabek laugh and it settles his nerves a little, “Okay. Yeah.”

She lets him go and forces him to turn to face her, “There’s plenty of time now, anyway. You don’t have to say everything all at once.” She smiles, “And maybe it’s about time Otabek did some of the talking, too.”  
  


He doesn’t know what she means by that, but he can’t ask, because she picks up her plate and walks away.

༺༻

The party is winding down before he and Otabek really get to talk again, one-on-one. It seems like Diaz has caught on that Yuri is getting frustrated and he seems to play interceptor and gives them some space. Yuri reminds himself that he _really_ needs to thank him and his sister for everything they’ve done.

Otabek smiles tiredly at him and accepts the plate with the last slice of cake on it, sets it on his leg and waits for Yuri to sit down across from him in another chair, “Can everyone leave yet?”

“Why are you asking me? They’re all here to see you. You chase them out.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who’s good at running people off.” Yuri issues an offended noise, and Otabek shoots him a wink, “I can’t believe you haven’t run off yet, though.”

Yuri rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah. About that. Only reason I didn’t bail early is because I needed to talk to you.” Otabek frowns, his eyes darkening instantly, and Yuri shifts in his seat, “I wanted to wait, but Alina said I should make sure you hear from me so-”

“Are you okay?”

“I-what? Yes, I’m fine, you dork. Shut up for a minute, will you?” He bites on the end of his plastic fork and looks around, but there’s nothing to catch his eye other than Otabek, who is clearly waiting, so he sighs and looks down at his knees, “Lilia’s making me go back to Russia.”

Otabek doesn’t say anything at first, Yuri can hear his own heartbeat in his ears and he’s suddenly too terrified to look up. Otabek’s leg shifts, then, “Rostelecom?”

Yuri nods, then finally looks up, “I need to have a fitting with the costume designer. Apparently I’ve grown since I’ve been here? I thought I was fucking done with growth spurts.”

“Yeah, you need to stop that or you’ll be taller than me.” Yuri sticks his tongue out at Beka and the other winks at him, “But Yura, honestly, I can’t believe you haven’t gone back already.”

Yuri pauses, “Wait. What? You’re not mad or anything?”

“Why would I be mad?” Otabek sets the cake aside and shifts forward as much as he can with the cast on his one leg, reaching for one of Yuri’s hands. His hand is so warm and Yuri fights a blush off, “Yura, you didn’t have to come here in the first place.”

“Of course I fucking did.” He feels a slice of anger hit him and he glares at his best friend, “I thought-we all thought you were going to die.”

“You didn’t have to stay.”

_Yes, I did._ He wants to reply, but what Otabek said is true. He didn’t have to stay, he could have gone home and continued training and been updated by Otabek’s family regularly. But it wouldn’t have been the same. He needed to know Otabek was okay for his own sake and he needed to have Otabek’s family nearby because they were a part of Otabek. He doesn’t have a good answer, so he says, “Someone had to feed your cat.”

Otabek huffs, “You didn’t even know I had a cat.”

“Yeah, what the hell is that about, asshole?” He pulls his hand free, as much as he wants to stay in contact with that burning touch, his desire to maintain his image outshines the want, “You get a cat and you don’t even tell your best fucking friend.”

“My neighbor found him and couldn’t keep him. I was going to show him to you when he wasn’t so skinny.” Otabek shrugs, “I think you got your revenge by renaming him, anyway. Cinnamon?”

“Well if he’d had a tag or something or if I’d even _known_ he existed, I wouldn’t have had to name him! And he’ll always be skinny, you monster, he’s an Abyssinian, that’s their _breed_. If you make him fat after I go home, I’ll fly back out here just to kick your ass.”

Otabek smiles and lifts a plastic cup up to his lips.

“And his name isn’t Cinnamon. It’s сенімен.”

Yuri takes way too much pleasure in watching Otabek choke on his drink.

༺༻

Their flight leaves at 4:45am on Monday, and they land in St Petersburg a little after 7:30am, to him it feels more like 10:30 am, but the sun isn’t even up yet and it’s _cold_. Lilia buys him a coffee before they leave the airport. He punches in a quick, _Landed, babies suck_. And sends it off to Otabek.

Lilia takes him back to the apartments, tells him to rest up, that she expects him to be ready to work tomorrow, then leaves again. He’s not sure where she’s going, but he doesn’t care.

  
The house is silent, Potya has been staying with Mila and he’s sure she’ll be a pain when he picks her up later, but it’s weird to be in a house without a cat begging for attention.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He stands in the main living room and looks around for a sign, but everything is how it was when he left. He feels like nothing has changed. Nothing except himself. It makes him uncomfortable in his own skin, in this room, listening to the clock on the mantle ticking away.

He’d thought time had moved on without him, now he’s thinking maybe he’s moved on without it.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and when he pulls it out _Beka_ is on the screen. The message simply says, _Take a nap. I’ll talk to you later._

That jerk, he knows the first thing Yuri should be doing is taking a shower. Maybe he knows how off-balance everything is. Yuri tucks his phone away and moves towards his bathroom, grabbing his bags along the way.

༺༻

Fame is a scream to the darkness.

And the stairwell is the quietest place in the entire building.

Which isn’t saying much, since Yuuri is watching him pace and Viktor is right outside the door, talking on his cellphone to someone. It’s the last day of Rostelecom, it’s time for Yuri to secure his first gold of the Grand Prix season. It should be easy, he’s on his home turf, he’s surrounded by friends and he’s got the best program he’s had in years. But he’s still nervous, so he’s here, panicking in the stairwell.

“Yurio, breathe. Come sit down for a minute.”

“That’s not my name.” He remarks, almost like a record, and watches his sneakers skid on the concrete, “We should get out there, I should be watching the others.”

“There’s plenty of time,” Yuuri smiles at him, “And none of them are a threat for you, anyway. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Other than your stupid chicken nugget.” The little Japanese man is right on Yuri’s heels in scoring, keeping Yuri up in arms. But honestly, he’s not really sure why he’s so nervous, he could do this routine in his sleep. Yuuri doesn’t respond, so Yuri paces across the landing, then down the stairs, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the bottom, then running back up them, stopping just as the door opens and Viktor explodes into the stairwell.

“Yuuuriooo” He draws out the name so long it makes Yuri want to punch him, the blonde opens his mouth, but is stopped by a hand in front of his face, shoving a cellphone at him, “You have a call. Don’t take too long, international is expensive.”

Yuri looks between the two as he carefully takes the device, Yuuri just smiles at him, standing and taking Viktor’s hand to be escorted out of the stairwell. Yuri isn’t really sure what just happened, but he pulls the phone to his ear, “Hello?”

“You’re impossible to get hold of when you don’t have your phone.” The warm voice on the other end instantly settles his nerves and his knees go weak enough he drops onto the top-most stair, leaning against the wall.

“Beka.” He pauses, “Yakov took my phone this morning, I haven’t seen it since.”

“I gathered. Are you ready? Äkem just got the live-stream going on my tv and he’s awfully proud of himself.” There’s voices in the background, Alina and others Yuri recognizes, the tone sounds like playful arguing, “Everyone is rooting for you. Except me, of course. I’m going for the Japanese kid.”

“That _kid_ is older than me, you jerk. Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Yuri enjoys Otabek’s laugh, closes his eyes and tries to picture his face. Otabek had gotten to go home just over a week ago, and Yuri had made sure they picked up their nightly conversations where they’d left off, making video chats a higher priority. He liked that Otabek seemed to be smiling more.

“Oh, come on, you know you can do it. You don’t need me to cheer you on.”

“Yeah, I know,” Yuri smiles and toys with his shoe lace, “But it’s still nice to know you are.”

“How about this,” There’s the sound of Otabek shifting the phone, “If you take gold, I have something for you.”

Yuri quirks an eyebrow, “Oh, you do, do you?”

There’s silence on the line and Yuri realizes Otabek is being serious, “You’d better win. I’ve been working on something, and I want you to hear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
> 
> Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
> 
> UNO MAS, MOTHA FUKAS.
> 
> [Tumblr](http://ded-i-am-just-ded.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also musical reference made in here, if anyone caught it ;D


	13. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And I can't count the times..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long, long road. Let's wrap this up. I hope you called your dentist.
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for taking this journey with me. It's been a wild ride and I hope this lives up to expectations. <3

****

** TWELVE **

It happens on the last combination. He lands the quad, sails into the double and feels his ankle curl. He touches down. It’s just a second before he’s moving on, but it’s enough.

Silver feels like a shackle. It takes every inch of willpower to not let the cameras see him cry.

༺༻

Everyone tries to be consoling, like they understand what it feels like. But no, they don’t get it at all. They don’t understand what was riding on this. He’s let Otabek down. He can’t even look at his phone when he’s done changing back into his street clothes and he shoves the silver metal to the bottom of his skate bag as soon as he can.

Lilia meets him when he storms out of the locker room, and he’s thankful she’s never one for gentle, meaningless words. She lets him hash out his frustrations as he walks beside her, her stone-wall gaze protecting him from the media-frenzy until they get to the news conference. He barely registers the questions they ask, answers them mechanically.

One jolts him back to reality, “Reports say you were in Almaty all summer. Does this have anything to do with Otabek Altin’s absence from the rink this season?”

He shoots a glare at the reporter, but realizes that no one has released any news about what happened to Otabek other than he’s taking the season off to recover from an injury. It hits him then that he lives in such a small world, wrapped inside a much larger one. It gives him pause, before he leans into the microphone and says, “My visit to Almaty was as much for myself as it was to visit my best friend. Not having him in the rink this year is hard and we all miss him very much, but we know he’s doing the best he can and we hope to see him in the fight for the podium next season.”

He sits back and takes a deep breath. Yuuri’s in the doorway at the back of the room and offers him a smile.

There are bigger things than the touchdown. Bigger things than this rink. He’s scored more than enough points that as long as he podiums at the NHK he’ll make it to the Grand Prix. He won’t fall again. He just hopes Otabek will wait a little longer.

༺༻

It’s three AM in Almaty when Yuri’s phone sounds off with a Skype call. He stares at the screen for a moment before excusing himself from Viktor and Yuuri’s slightly-drunk presences and makes his way out of their hotel room and down the hall towards his own. He accepts the call with a frown and a quirked eyebrow, “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Same to you. You must be exhausted.”

Yuri looks away from the camera to unlock his hotel room door and let himself inside, “Disappointed, mostly.” He kicks his shoes off and flicks up a light switch, which turns on a lamp by the bed. He drops onto the corner of the bed and splays onto his back, holding the phone above his head, “Sorry I didn’t take gold.”

“You were robbed.” The sentence makes him smile, makes him remember his sixteen year old self saying the same thing to Otabek when their friendship was still raw and new, “Want me to try to quote the rest of your rant? I think I remember parts of it.”

“Please no, let me mourn in peace.”

Otabek laughs and Yuri’s heart stops as he memorizes the wrinkles that form and the light in Otabek’s eyes. It’s dark around Otabek, only the light from his phone screen illuminating him, it casts him in a strange white glow. Yuri loves it, loves this.

Yuri loves _him_.

It’s easy to admit, in that single instant, watching the laugh die out and the smirk return. Yuri would trade everything away in an instant to keep this forever. He wonders if something shows on his face, because the smirk falls to a serious line, “Yura?”

He closes his eyes to save himself, “Can I still hear whatever it is you wanted me to listen to?”

“No.” There’s a scoff in his voice, and Yuri’s eyes fly open again. Otabek’s eyebrow goes up, “You didn’t take gold, why should you get a prize?”

“Because-” he almost says ‘ _because you love me’_ but he feels like it would come out wrong, so he goes with, “Because I don’t want to copy the two losers and have everything hinge on a gold fucking medal.”

“I’m not proposing to you.”

“You could be, how would I know?” He grins to let him know he’s joking, then rolls onto his stomach, propping the phone up in front of him, “How are you feeling? How’s the leg and…” he waves a hand around, “everything?”

“The leg itches like hell, I’m ready to get rid of the cast or saw it all off. сенімен misses you, he keeps wandering into your room, then coming back out and yowling. It’s kind of sad, I actually feel a little bad for him.”

Yuri smiles, props his chin in his hand, “I miss him, too. And your apartment, oh my god. I almost forgot what it was like living with Lilia and her diet.”

“That bad?”

“Torturous.” Otabek tries to hide a yawn, but Yuri sees the motion for what it is and points at the screen, “Okay, that’s enough, you’re still recovering, go to bed. I can bother you just as well tomorrow after we’ve had some sleep.”

“When does your flight leave?”

“Not till tomorrow afternoon, Yakov insisted we have part of the day to recover. I’m fairly sure he and Lilia are sleeping together again and don’t want to admit it.” He makes a gagging noise then grins when Otabek smiles, “I’ll message you before we take off.”

“Okay, let me know when you get home, too.”

“Yeah, yeah. You say that like I’ve ever done anything differently.”

Otabek moves the camera to situate himself onto his back and Yuri realizes he’s been talking to him in bed. That little reveal does horrible things to him and he’s instantly trying to take a mental picture of the way Otabek’s hair splays out on the pillow and the way Otabek’s lips move when he says, “Alright, alright, get some rest, have a good night, Yura.”

Yuri smiles, picks up the phone and rolls over onto his back again, “Good night, Beka.”

༺༻

He throws Otabek a birthday party over Skype, complete with a mini cake and a candle that he’d had a duplicate one sent to his best friend so they could both celebrate at the same time. Otabek indulges him in it in exchange for no other gifts. It's hard to resist when everything he sees reminds him of his friend, but the firm expression he’d gotten when Otabek had said he didn’t want anything was serious and Yuri understood, because he hates his own birthday.

November flies by and somehow he’s grown two more annoying centimeters which results in having to have his costume altered in time for the NHK. When the plane touches down in Japan, it almost feels like coming home. They aren’t quite going to Hasetsu, but close enough, the competition making a return to the site of the 2013-14 season Grand Prix in Fukuoka, only about an hour away. There are plans for a dinner with Yuuri’s family that he’s been roped into that he is secretly looking forward to, only because he kind of enjoys Mari Katsuki when she isn’t trying to make him do chores.

Speaking of Katsuki, he almost runs into the asian-version of his name when the other stops suddenly in front of a row of screens on the way towards the baggage claim, “What the hell are you doing, Katsudon?”

“Oh, sorry, Yurio. There’s another flight coming in, I thought maybe we could wait for them and they could ride with us to the hotel.” Yuri rolls his eyes and Yuuri blushes and rubs the back of his neck.

“Whatever, can we wait for them at luggage claim? I’d rather no one takes my fucking bag.” He crosses his arms, tapping his foot incredulously.

“What? Oh,” The blush gets deeper, “Yes, that’s a good idea.” Viktor chooses that moment to reappear and wrap a Gucci-encased arm around his husband and pulls him off, purring something in Japanese in his ear that only makes the other blush even harder.

Yuri rolls his eyes and lets his arms fall to his sides, trailing behind.

༺༻

This is getting a little ridiculous. Viktor vanishes for a little while, but returns with coffee, thank _god_ , otherwise Yuri probably would have murdered one of them twenty minutes ago. Yakov and Lilia have headed off to the hotel already, and Yuri wishes he’d gone with, but the gag-worthy lovebirds had all but shoved him into a chair and here he is, staring at the stained ceiling while Yuuri talks to his mother on his phone and Viktor sings along with the over-head music, off-key and in Russian with his own lyrics.

“Oh, here they come.” Viktor hits his shoulder to call his attention, even though he is already responding to his voice. He issues a low growl and rolls his head forward, rubbing his shoulder and glaring at him, but Viktor gives him one of his stupid heart-shaped smiles and points past him towards the arrivals hallway, “Look.”

Yuri frowns, but turns in the uncomfortable chair and freezes. He’s been expecting Christophe or Phichit or a competitor he’ll be facing off with. He’s not expecting Alina and Otabek Altin to come strolling down the hallway. Well, Otabek is limping down the hallway, with the help of a cane and a brace wrapped tight around his leg while Alina carries a large duffle bag in her hand and Otabek’s leather bag on her hip. She grins and Otabek has the audacity to look sheepish when Yuri stands up, mouth hanging open.

Yuri looks back at Viktor and Yuuri who are not looking at him, but have stupid grins on their faces, then turns and marches towards them, “What the hell? What are you doing here? Is it even okay for you to travel?”

“Whoa there, princess,” Alina steps in, holding up her free hand, “Chill out, we call this a surprise. It’s a _good_ thing. You’re supposed to be happy.”

Yuri narrows his eyes at her, then reaches out to pull her into a hug, “I am happy, you idiot, but what the _hell_?” He lets her go and focuses on Otabek, “Seriously, is it safe for you to fly?”

“Yes, mom, we have a note from my doctor and everything.” Otabek rolls his eyes but the rest of his face remains relatively blank other than the slight tinge of pink on his cheeks.

“Shut up.” Yuri manages, before he launches himself at his best friend. It’s the first real hug he’s gotten to give Otabek in what feels like forever and when Otabek’s free arm wraps around his own waist it feels almost freeing. Like coming home. He closes his eyes and inhales the scent that is uniquely Otabek, murmuring, “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Otabek smiles at him as he pulls back and lets him go.

“Sure. You can think that. Do you guys have bags coming in or can we get the hell out of here?” Yuri retreats to pick up his carry-on and pull the handle up on his shipped luggage.

“This is it. It’s kind of nice how little I have to bring when I’m not competing.”

Yuri shoots him another look, “Don’t get used to it. You’ll be back next season.”

Something flashes across Otabek’s face, but he doesn’t respond, instead saying, “Which way to the hotel shuttles? Not sure how long i can stand.”

Viktor makes an offended noise, “There will be no shuttles! Ridiculous idea. I rented a vehicle, of course.”

“You what.” It isn’t a question. Yuri’s ridden in a car with Viktor behind the wheel before and it was a miracle he’d survived. Viktor’s exuberance carries over into literally everything he did, including driving and he really isn’t sure he wants to die right before NHK.

Viktor nods, smiles at him, holding up a set of rental keys, “An SUV, it’ll be fun Yurio.”

“If by fun you mean a near-death experience.” He murmurs just as Yuuri reaches out and steals the keys and Yuri could just _kiss_ the Japanese man for saving the day. Yuuri placates Viktor with a kiss and a murmur of something before they lead the way out of the building. Alina follows and Yuri matches his pace to Otabek, keeping close to his side.

“I can’t believe you flew all the way out here.”

“I wasn’t going to miss it if I could help it. I was already mad at myself for missing Rostelecom.” Otabek shrugs and shivers once they step outside. It’s a little windy and cold since it’s November, Yuri presses closer to him as if he could share body heat, “And after everything, I really want to watch you skate in person.”

Yuri smiles and watches his feet.

“Besides, now you _have_ to win.”

“Oh, I do?”

Otabek nods, “I didn’t drag myself to another country with your prize just for you to fail.”

Yuri’s stomach twists into a knot. As if there wasn’t enough pressure before, the reminder of what’s at stake just digs it in deeper. He needs whatever Otabek has for him. He wants it like he’s never wanted anything else in the world.

It starts to rain as they reach the vehicle.

༺༻

If he listens hard enough, he can hear the rain on the roof, echoing through the vents and into the locker room. He tries to focus on that instead of the sound of the crowd. He’s never felt this ill before a performance, nerve-shot and exhausted before he’s even stepped onto the ice. He laces up his skate and rises, does one last check of his outfit before he exits the room and meets Lilia, who pushes another pin into his already painfully tight hair, as if anything is going to move anywhere.

She does something she rarely does, and touches his cheek, murmurs, “Breathe, Yuratchka.” just as the call goes out for the warm-ups. She steps aside and lets him walk out first. The roar of the crowd goes up then dies down as the first set of skaters does their warm-ups laps. Yuri ignores them all, even though he can hear Alina clearly shouting his name. He can’t look or he’ll see Beka. He can’t see Beka or he’ll fail.

He can’t fail.

He pulls himself off the ice and returns to Lilia and Yakov’s side, waiting his turn, last in the first group. When he steps out onto the ice, it’s like the world falls away.. He can hear the sound of his blades, of his own breath in his head. He should be thinking of his start, of the lead-in to his first combination. Instead he’s only thinking

_Maybe the ice reminds me of Yura, because Yura is like coming home._

Yuri wants to be that to Otabek. He lifts his arms into his starting pose. He wants Otabek to realize it, too. He wants Otabek to never let him go or give up on him. He barely notices when the music starts, but his body moves and he’s pulled into memories.

 _Lamentation_. Yuri has given up on so many things, has had to let so many things go. His grandfather, his parents, his childhood. He mourns for them, mourns for himself. And then the song begins to shift, and he thinks of his grandfather’s funeral. Otabek’s fingers in his hair as they watched the casket in the graveyard. Otabek’s warm hand on the back of his neck or wrapped in his own hand when he was crying. He thinks how his life altered on that day, how that was a new page in his story.

He lets go.

Feels it release from his chest and throw itself out of him in his quad. It feels physical, and he feels lighter. He feels like he’s flying. It’s not just a new page, this time. He’s starting a new chapter.

When he draws himself into his end pose, his eyes seek out Otabek instantly. He’s going to start a whole new story, and this time he’s going to make sure Otabek is there with him.

༺༻

He breaks records, but he skips out on the press junket held after the first day. Lilia can murder him later, he has more important things to take care of. He retreats back to the hotel still in his costume so he doesn’t get caught, and showers in his room. He’s staring at his reflection, toweling down his hair, when there’s a knock at the door.

Otabek gives him a conspiratorial smile when he cracks it open to see who’s outside, then steps in when Yuri lets him. Yuri retreats to the bathroom to finish his hair, “Please don’t tell me you’re here to nag at me about running away.”

“No, I’m here to kidnap you.”

Yuri pokes his head back out into the main room. Otabek is sitting on the desk chair, a hand propped on his cane. Yuri lifts an eyebrow at him, “Kidnap me?”

“I don’t have a bike this time, we’ll have to take a taxi or something.”

The blonde snorts and ducks back into the bathroom once more, “My hero.”

“That’s what they call me.” The sentence almost makes Yuri drop his brush and he’s _so_ glad Otabek can’t see him right now. It takes him a minute to compose himself before he can return to the other room. Otabek pushes himself to his feet, “Let’s go find some dinner?”

“Yes, please. I’m starving.” Yuri pulls on his customary tiger-print hoodie, making sure he’s got his room key and phone, then leads the way out of the room, rolling his eyes as Otabek turns off all of the lights behind him, “How do you feel about raw fish?”

“Like it should be returned to the kitchen and cooked.”

༺༻

__

_“Otabek, why did you talk to me? I’m a rival, aren’t I?”_

__

_“I’ve always thought we were alike. That’s all.”_

༺༻

“Beka?” Yuri pauses on the pier, full from dinner and mind whirling. He should get this over with or it will eat away at him. He watches Otabek pause and turn, lean up against the wall for support and meet his eyes, “Can I ask you something?”

Otabek frowns, eyes suddenly serious, “Of course.”

Yuri debates how to phrase his question, bites his lip, but doesn’t break his gaze, “Do you...I mean...do they think you’ll be able to compete again? Realistically?”

Otabek’s hand tightens on his cane and Yuri watches his mouth tighten into a thin line. He breaks his gaze and shakes his head once, looking out at the water. Yuri’s heart breaks a little, then a little more when Otabek doesn’t say anything, “Will it change anything? With us, I mean. Should I...if you want to distance yourself from it all, from me-”

“What are you talking about?” Otabek cuts him off, looking back at him sharply, “Why would you ever even consider that? Do you really think I,” He pauses, “Does our friendship means that little to you?”

“No!” Yuri takes a step towards him, “It means that much to me! If it hurts too much, then tell me. I don’t ever want to hurt you. I don’t want to be the source of your sadness or pain. If watching me continue to skate or talk about skating or any of that is an issue, I need to know. If you ever feel like you need some space from me you have to promise me you’ll tell me.”

“Yura-”

“Promise me!”

“I promise,” Otabek closes the space between them and puts his empty hand on Yuri’s, “I promise I’ll never push you out of my life. Skating has been a part of me since I was a kid. It’ll be hard to let it go, but it’s not the end of the world. I have my music, the doc says if I dare venture it, I’ll have my motorcycle. I have you and skating isn’t everything you are, Yura.”

“Beka.”

“I’m not going to let you go. Ever.”

༺༻

__

_“Are you going to become friends with me or not?”_

༺༻

The Free Skate feels like a cake-walk. He floats through it all, even the overly hard step sequence, and when it’s over he finds himself in the kiss-and-cry with tears threatening to leak from the corners of his eyes. If the Short Program had been for his grandfather, the Free Skate is for himself. He forgets everything and tries to just have _fun_. He laments at the beginning, the boy he used to be, then welcomes who he’s becoming with open arms. He’s no longer the lost little boy, waiting for a sign.

 _Home is where you make it_.

He knows his home is in the corner of Otabek’s smile. In Alina’s hug. In Mila and Medina’s obnoxious voices. Home is on the ice and in Lilia’s apartment. Home is Almaty and St Petersburg. Home is not just a place.

He wipes his cheek just as the cameras cut to him and the announcers read off his final scores. He doesn’t need to hear it, but he’s crushed to Lilia’s chest as screams erupt around them. He hugs her back, then turns as Yakov pats his shoulder and helps him stand, they all walk together out of the kiss-and-cry and Yuri tries to throw on a smile for the cameras. His mind has stopped working, though. He’s not really sure what he’s doing anymore.

He won. It’s not the first time he’s qualified for the Grand Prix, definitely not his first gold medal. But…

His eyes find Otabek and sees him smiling.

༺༻

They have a bad habit and ritual, and Otabek not competing doesn’t stop them from continuing it. Yuri goes to the banquet only to escape after spending adequate time with each of his sponsors and sucking up to some potential new ones. Otabek avoids the entire thing, saying he needs to ice his leg and take care of something with Alina and to message him when he’s done. Yuri steals a bottle of wine and takes it with him, taking the stairs up to Otabek’s floor, humming to himself.

It takes Otabek a few moments to open the hotel room door, but he’s got his jacket on and is flipping off the light, “Done? Let’s get out of here.” He shoves Yuri’s own jacket at him.

Yuri frowns, looking at the coat, “What? I thought you were icing your leg.”

“I lied.” Otabek takes the bottle of wine and sets it inside the hotel room door before closing it behind himself and meeting Yuri’s eyes, now almost level with his own, “Come on, let’s go down to the pier again.”

“Beka?”

Otabek doesn’t say anything, he puts his hand in his pocket, then pulls it out again, reaches out and takes Yuri’s hand. This is enough of a distraction that he’s able to drag the blonde to the elevator bay and down to the lobby before Yuri knows whats hit him. He’s blushing, but Otabek doesn’t seem to notice and doesn’t let go of his hand, even once they’ve escaped into the cold night air. It wakes him up a little and he tugs at Otabek’s hand, but keeps it in his grasp, “Slow down, Beka. Your leg-”

“It’s fine. I feel fine.” But Otabek obeys, lets them fall into a casual pace up to the pier where they’d walked the other night. Yuri enjoys the silence, listens to the waves crash and wonders if this would be what it would feel like if they were dating. That thought makes him blush and his eyes widen. He must tense up, too, because Otabek pulls them to a stop under the dim glow of a street light. He looks over at him as Otabek lets his hand go and reaches into his pocket.

“I promised you if you took gold, I had something I wanted you to listen to.” He pulls his hand out and Yuri instantly recognizes the object he shows him. The small, old, silver MP3 player. He looks quickly from it to Otabek, who smiles softly, “Diaz said you’d heard the bare bones of it before. We, uh, we finished it.”

Yuri’s hands are shaking as he takes the player and pushes the earbuds into his ears. He opens up the music menu and sees only one song. This one is labeled, ‘ _My Heart I…_ ” He hovers over the play button, looks up at Otabek. The older man is watching him carefully, when he realizes he’s been caught, he reaches forward and presses Yuri’s finger down for him, “It only works if you hit play.”

And then he hears the acoustic guitar open, followed by Otabek’s voice, warm and strong in his ears.

_[“I’m a ghost in your eyes](https://youtu.be/GNpSHz9tD5M)_  
_[A shadow you can't seem to recognize](https://youtu.be/GNpSHz9tD5M)_  
_[I have a thought of you for every, star in the sky](https://youtu.be/GNpSHz9tD5M)_  
_[But I'm scared, I'll never cross your mind](https://youtu.be/GNpSHz9tD5M)_  
[_Yeah, I'm scared”_](https://youtu.be/GNpSHz9tD5M)

Yuri looks up quickly, Otabek’s looking down at their hands still, Yuri’s never seen the expression on his face before. It’s soft, eyes partially closed in a way he’s never seen, a smile he’s never experienced.

_“Will our stars ever align?_  
_Will two hearts, beat in time?_  
_These words you should always remember,_  
_To you, my heart I surrender_  
_Chasing love that can never be mine_  
_Maybe one day you'll realize_  
_These words you should always remember,_  
_To you, my heart I surrender”_

Yuri’s not sure if his heart stops or beats so fast he can’t sense it anymore. He lifts his free hand up and covers theirs on the MP3 player. It makes Otabek look up.

_“And I can't count the times_  
_I stayed awake pretending you were mine,”_

Yuri launches forwards before he can second guess himself. He leaves the player in Otabek’s hand and pushes both of his own hands into Otabek’s hair, pulls him forward and kisses him. He feels Otabek laugh, breathless against his mouth, feels a hand go around his waist and one of the earbuds drops out.

It doesn’t matter, though. This is everything he’s been searching for. When he pulls back, he sees it in Otabek’s eyes, he doesn’t need to hear it in the lyrics still in his ear. The question Yuri’s been asking himself and the answer that’s been right there in front of him. He leans forward and meets Otabek half-way. There’s a hand in his hair, it tugs just enough to send shivers down his spine.

_“To you,_  
_My heart I surrender.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? Is that one more chapter after this? Why yes, it is! An epilogue! Woo!
> 
> [Come yell at me on Tumblr](http://ded-i-am-just-ded.tumblr.com/)


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end is where we begin...

****

** EPILOGUE **

He wakes up to the sun streaming through the curtains and rolls over to hide his face from it. He pauses when he hits a warm body instead of a soft pillow, but it hums at him and an arm drops around his shoulder. He grins and throws his arm an a leg out over the other body as he presses his face into the black tee-shirt.

Otabek murmurs something he doesn’t catch, then fingers thread into his hair and begin to pet him, it takes all of his self control to not start purring. Almaty is too warm and he really shouldn’t want to be this close to another body, but when Otabek starts humming a song he wants to mold himself into him. He figures he’s earned the rest after winning the Grand Prix and taking silver at Worlds. Who knew that stupid Kenjirou Minami would sweep in and steal the gold out from him while he was distracted by Otabek showing up on a fucking motorcycle?

He’s almost drifted back to sleep when his boyfriend ( _boyfriend,_ he still can’t get over it) has to ruin it with, “Diaz will be here in twenty minutes or so, you might want to get in the shower.”

Yuri bites at the closest skin to him and Otabek’s hand clenches his hair and pulls his head up. Yuri grins at his glare, unafraid, “Why did you have to ruin the nice morning by bringing up him?”

“Because I’d rather he not walk in on us again.” He lets go of Yuri’s hair and drops his hand to the curve of his back.

Yuri bites back a laugh, “We’re not even doing anything this time.” He drags a hand up Otabek’s clothed chest and winks at him, “Yet.”

Otabek catches his hand and pulls it to his lips, kissing the tip of each finger before letting it go, “Get in the shower, I’ll start the coffee.”

“You’re the best boyfriend ever.” 

“I know.” Neither of them move.

Yuri reaches up and runs his fingers through the long part of Otabek’s hair, eyes following his fingers, “When did you know? That you were in love with me?” He doesn’t wait for Otabek to answer, instead looks him in the eye and continues, “I fell for you at the Duomo.” Otabek smiles, “But I didn’t realize it until later. Didn’t really know what my heart was trying to tell my brain.”

Otabek’s fingers rub circles on the small of his back, “You had a lot going on.”

Yuri pushes a finger into Otabek’s side, feels him try to shift away then come back when he relents, “Answer the question, asshole.”

“I’ve always loved you, Yura. It just...changed as we got older.” Yuri opens his mouth to interrupt, but Otabek keeps talking, “I found myself always wanting more. More time, more attention, more touches.” He looks down at him, “And then I wanted to kiss you in Milan, so I took you to the Duomo.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I lost my nerve.”

Yuri sits up, “You’re fucking adorable.” He throws a leg over Otabek and pulls himself over him, then leans down, “Another question.”

“You’re full of them this morning.”

“What would you have done if I’d lost NHK? What if I hadn’t qualified for the Grand Prix? Would you have let me hear the song? Would you have ever confessed?” He squeezes his legs against Otabek’s hips and enjoys the reaction he feels.

“Of course not. I told you, it was a prize for taking gold. If you hadn’t won, I’d keep it safe until you did.”

“What if I hadn’t won anything this year? Would you have kept waiting?”

“I’d always wait for you, Yura.” Otabek’s hand cups his cheek, then slips behind his ear to the back of his neck, “You’re worth waiting for.”

Yuri grins, leans down and kisses him softly, “So are you.”

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone. Really, this fandom has changed me so much and I really appreciate each and every one of you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> Hope to see you all in [_Forever_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12063150)


	15. Serenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a Lullaby chapter but an announcement...

I have a lot of people who followed this story, so I just wanted to give a heads up. 

THERE'S A SEQUEL IN THE WORKS!

[Serenade](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13482027/chapters/30913251)

If you're wanting to continue their story, check it out. 

Thank you for your time and support of Lullaby ❤


End file.
